


'Til I Change My Luck

by FannyT, RedOrchid



Series: The Hunger Games Fusion Verse [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Merlin (TV), One Direction (Band)
Genre: 70th Hunger Games, Background Arthur/Merlin - Freeform, Capitolite!Harry, Captain!Niall, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, District 4, Hunger Games Victors, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Hunger Games-Victor Prostitution Circuit, M/M, Mentor!Louis, Victor!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Can I have a pink flamingo, please?” the person next to him says, and Louis does a double take. The boy leaning across the bar to say something else to the bartender is not in costume, for one, and exudes money, for another. His shirt alone—a flimsy, barely-there thing in gold and crystals, unbuttoned almost to the navel—probably costs more than what a victor receives in a year. Louis feels a spark of hope; this might actually get him somewhere.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Here, on me,” he says, as the bartender puts down a revoltingly pink concoction on the bar. “And I’ll have the same.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The boy next to him looks up, sees Louis, and his eyes widen a little. Good. Instant recognition is par for the course, with Louis being such a recent victor and all, but the way the boy’s pupils dilate and his breath catches slightly in his throat—Louis can definitely work with that.</i>
</p><p>A Hunger Games AU. Starring victor!Louis, capitolite!Harry, literal!captain!Niall, two shady deck hands and a lot of sailing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anna7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna7/gifts).



> Stand-alone story set in our HG fusion ‘verse. See series description for more details. General warnings for HG canon elements, such as tribute character death, canon-typical violence, and victor prostitution.
> 
> Big thank you to our awesome betas and cheerleaders: possiblywonderful, letswastetimehere, harrehyeralizard and greenylovesbluey

It’s the tenth day of the 70th Hunger Games, and next to Louis at the mentor console, Finnick is falling apart. 

Louis knows that he was extremely lucky last year, with Sociopathic Sophia and Very Vain (And Equally Stupid) Valiant as his first tributes. He’d expected his first year as mentor to be hard—and of course it was, but he still got off easy, in a way. Both the Four tributes died within the first three days, and although the murder of children was, of course, never easy to swallow, Louis hadn’t actually lost too much sleep over it. They’d been rather awful people. And he’d been somewhat distracted by the teeny tiny detail that, as a victor, he’d been supposed to spend his evenings _enjoying the favours_ of prominent Capitol citizens twice his age, or see one or more of his four baby sisters meet the same fate. Needless to say, Louis has been a model victor since day one.

This year is different.

It hasn’t been three hours since the boy from District Five surprised Jonas Ketch and Annie Cresta in their hide-out. District Four is now down one tribute, and the one remaining has completely lost her head. (Which, Louis realises, might be an inappropriate metaphor to use at the moment.) Finnick is watching the screens with a near-manic look in his eyes, refusing to talk to anyone—including old Mags, who is practically a District Four institution. If Finnick doesn’t leave for hair and makeup in the next couple of minutes, he’ll be late to his first appointment of the night, but from what Louis can tell, he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Louis would have something scathing to say on the matter, if he didn’t feel sick to his stomach at the giant mess they’re all in. Falling in love with someone of reaping age and not even trying to keep it a secret back home; with three years on the circuit under Snow’s thumb, Finnick should definitely have known better. 

For some reason, Louis still can’t bring himself to hate him for it, especially as he sees Finnick shift to curl up in his chair, hugging his legs and burying his face in his arms, the exact same way Annie is doing on the big screen.

Finnick clearly isn’t able to dig them all out of this hole, and the other Four mentors are busy doing damage control and trying to spin Annie’s breakdown to the media. Which leaves Louis to actually get something done. 

“I’m going to hit up a party,” he says, resting his hand on Finnick’s shoulder for a moment. Finnick only nods, which is a bit of a wrench—Finnick’s been the one pulling Louis back to sanity after every night with a Capitol patron. Having him not even react to the fact that Louis is about to go out and deliberately sell himself is not a heartening sign. 

Still, what choice is there? Louis takes one last look at the screen and walks out the door towards hair and makeup.

* * *

Louis has seen a fair amount of Capitol parties in the time since he became a victor. He thinks this one might actually be the most tasteless yet. 

The Capitol loves a theme party, and Louis has been to everything ranging from _Under the Sea_ (the Finnick impersonators dancing provocatively in every corner really were the icing on that particular cake) to _Friends and Enemies_ (where the main entertainment was One and Two victor look-a-likes in various types of catfights/orgies). But this one, which proclaims that _Everyone is a Victor!_ over the entrance, is a whole other level of terrible. 

As he walks through the door, he sees people wearing false fangs, trying to emulate Enobaria’s frightening, sharp smile, and people dangling Beetee’s trademark glasses precariously at the end of their noses. There’s a surprisingly large contingent of Haymitch fans, laughing raucously with false guts splaying out from their stomachs, every wound of Haymitch’s final Games day faithfully recreated with make-up. Louis even sees people wearing his own token, the braided bracelet his sisters gave him on the day he went into the Games. 

He realises in that moment that it might have been a really bad idea to try and pull sponsors in a room filled with people dressed up as him, most of them at least 90% less clothed.

He elbows his way to the bar, pushing aside a party guest wearing a perfect recreation of the interview dress worn by last year’s victor Morgana LeFay, and tries to catch the eye of one of the bartenders. Really, this whole thing is so awful he doesn’t know where to begin. 

Louis is thinking he’ll down a beer and then head towards one of the quieter sponsor bars, hoping to find some woman with a soft spot for Annie’s particular brand of fragile beauty, when someone slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“Can I have a pink flamingo, please?” the person next to him says, and Louis does a double take. The boy leaning across the bar to say something else to the bartender is not in costume, for one, and exudes money, for another. His shirt alone—a flimsy, barely-there thing in gold and crystals, unbuttoned almost to the navel—probably costs more than what a victor receives in a year. Louis feels a spark of hope; this might actually get him somewhere.

“Here, on me,” he says, as the bartender puts down a revoltingly pink concoction on the bar. “And I’ll have the same.”

The boy next to him looks up, sees Louis, and his eyes widen a little. Good. Instant recognition is par for the course, with Louis being such a recent victor and all, but the way the boy’s pupils dilate and his breath catches slightly in his throat—Louis can definitely work with that.

The bartender puts down a second drink in front of them, and Louis takes it, nudging the other one over to the boy next to him with a dazzling smile. “Nice party, innit? Having a good night so far, love?”

“Um,” the boy says, clearly at a loss for words. He takes the drink, though, raises it to his lips and takes a careful sip. “Sure? I’m mostly here because my mum and sister had some business to take care of. But it’s… colourful, I guess? I saw a woman dressed up as Ursula back by the chocolate fountain. Very… billowing. Had the hair and everything. People are definitely going all out.”

“That they are,” Louis says, leaning a bit forward and taking careful note of the way the boy’s eyes seem to flicker down for a second. Good. “How about you, then? What are your plans, what with mum and sis off doing their thing?”

“Not sure,” the boy says, and then he smiles, clearly picking up some confidence. “Any ideas?”

Louis’ smile widens. “I’ve got a few.” His eyes drop to the boy’s hands, noting several expensive rings, one of them a monogrammed monstrosity with an intricate “S” surrounded by roses—the flower limited to people in the highest circles of nobility and power only. Louis can’t believe his luck.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go and holds his hand out to the boy, head racing, trying to set up the perfect scenario for maximum gain. The boy is younger than Louis, but likely not by much—the makeup always makes it hard to tell with Capitol people—and the way he’s looking at Louis now, sliding their fingers together and pulling Louis closer to him, points to confidence and experience that will likely make an overt seduction more successful than if Louis were to try and flatter and cajole him into bed.

He gets off his chair and pulls the boy close, leaning in to let him have a quick taste of what Louis has to offer. The boy slides a hand around Louis’ waist and deepens the kiss. He tastes like money. Piles and piles of it.

Louis wraps his arms around the boy’s neck and kisses him back.

* * *

The boy’s name is Harry, and he’s a bloody _Styles_. Louis almost wants to cry from happiness when he sees the name on the door to the lavish penthouse Harry brings him to. Dr Anne Styles is the Capitol General Surgeon, part of Snow’s cabinet and famous in Victor circles, known for her bleeding heart and tendency to sponsor underdogs and playing some very long odds—including putting down extravagant sums to send food to the rag-tag alliance of outer districts the year before. She’s also notoriously difficult to gain access to, and uncommonly private about her family ties for a Capitol person; with a son who practically melts under Louis’ touch and hurries them both into a jewel-encrusted lift without even attempting to shield the access code, Louis can see why.

“How much time do you have?” Harry asks, fingers working quickly down the row of buttons on Louis’ shirt. “I mean, I know you’re a mentor, and the Games—”

Louis interrupts him with a kiss, then walks them backward until Harry has him pushed up against the nearest wall and decides to test the waters. He pulls Harry’s hips flush against his own and smoothly slots a thigh between Harry’s, pushing up a little and holding back a smile when Harry starts grinding against it, a soft moan breaking from his throat. 

“I’m sure you’ll make it worth my while,” he says, elation surging through him when Harry moans again, and nods fervently before claiming Louis’ lips in another searing kiss.

Harry’s hands are everywhere, and Louis lets himself relax and move into the touch, now that the formalities have been more or less settled. Harry might be a sponsor, but he’s young, fit, filthily rich, and, so far, seems easy enough to please and without any sadistic tendencies. As far as patrons go, he’s a dream come true.

“Bedroom,” Harry pants against his ear, punctuated by another moan when Louis makes quick work of both their trousers. “Right now. _Please_.”

“Lead the way, love.”

* * *

Louis lies back against the (incredibly) fancy sheets in the (outrageously) large bed, staring up at the painted ceiling. There’s an intricate pattern of ferns with birds and butterflies flying in and out of the leaves, the colours standing out in vibrant beauty. He’s pretty sure the butterflies are touched up with actual gold leaf. Seriously, how much money do you have to spare when you make your entire ceiling an artwork? 

He glances to his side, where Harry is sprawled out, eyes closed and smiling, and feels a shiver of unease run down his spine. 

He doesn’t know what Harry’s deal is, and in his experience, the patrons who fall outside the usual mindset are the ones to watch out for. Louis has had his fair share of enthusiastic clients in his year on the circuit, but it’s always been abundantly clear who is there to benefit from the services provided. Any pleasure for Louis is always an investment, given to boost the client’s ego, ensure an even better treatment for themselves or—in a couple of instances that Louis does his best to forget—attempt to change the game mid-way and get more than what they paid for.

Harry moved with him like they were lovers, matching everything Louis did with generosity and attentiveness, seemingly taking great pleasure in figuring out just what things would get Louis to lose control of himself and forget—even if just for a split second—why both of them were really there. And now he’s just lying there, eyes flickering open and a dimple forming in his cheek, smiling at Louis as though he _likes_ him.

Even worse, part of Louis wants to give into that smile, move back into Harry’s arms and just pretend for a moment. Which means it’s high time he got a move on—collect what he came for and get out before his bloody hormones can fuck him over completely.

He rolls over on his side, props himself up on one elbow and runs his other hand down Harry’s chest. First step: always make sure the client has no complaints that can be used against you at any point in the future.

“I still have a bit more in me, if you really want to put me through my paces,” he says. Harry laughs shortly, and Louis pushes back the feeling of relief when he, instead of moving Louis’ hand lower, just interlocks their fingers.

“I don’t think I could even stand up at this point, and you’re ready to go? I’m impressed by your stamina.”

 _More like you’re impressed by the half a medicine cabinet in my trousers for when duty calls_ , Louis thinks, but whatever the Capitol people like to tell themselves, fine. 

“So you’re satisfied, then,” he says, making it coy. 

In reply, Harry brings their joined hands up to his mouth, brushing a teasing kiss across Louis' knuckles. “Are you fishing for more praise? Because I’d think my enjoyment was clear. And loud. I’m pretty sure the neighbours across the street heard me.”

When Louis doesn’t reply, Harry’s smile softens. He turns their hands over, placing a kiss against the inside of Louis’ wrist. “Of course I am. You’re amazing.”

Louis waits to see if anything else is forthcoming, then suppresses a sigh. Trust Harry to be one of those clients, who wants to drag out the aftermath. He looks around the room again, and spots a telescreen half-hidden behind a silk drapery.

“Hey, do you mind if we check in on the Games for just a sec?” he asks, gesturing towards it. “Just to see that Annie is doing alright?”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Yes, of course. Hang on.”

He rolls over and presses some buttons by the night stand, and the telescreen lights up, going straight to an image of Chaff’s boy trying to catch fish in a stream. Harry presses more buttons, switching between channels until Annie’s familiar form appears, passed out from exhaustion at the back of a small cave. 

Louis swallows. Annie is unnaturally pale and still covered in blood from the earlier attack. If Louis didn’t have his mentor bracelet on, with its pink light still blinking steadily, he’d be very worried.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quietly, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on Louis’ shoulder. “It must be tough when they lose.”

“She can make it,” Louis says, forcing a confident smile onto his face. “Stroke of bad luck, is all. She got an eight for her evaluation, remember? A little help and she’ll be back on track for the top in no time.”

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” Harry says, “but just looking at the visible wounds and at how pale she is, I’d say she needs at least a suture kit, antibiotics, a shot of synthetic hemoglobin to combat the blood loss, plenty of hot fluids, and bandages. That’s going to take a lot of money at this point in the game.”

“Well, every contribution helps,” Louis replies, leaning in and placing a light kiss on Harry’s chest. “How about we start with a suture kit and some antibiotics and work our way from there, eh?”

Harry frowns, and then his eyes widen, before they turn soft and regretful. “I’m sorry, Louis, I don’t get involved in the Games. I mean I’d love to help, I do, but I just don’t—” He trails off, looking suddenly concerned. “I don’t sponsor.”

Louis just blinks at him, shock probably written all across his face. “What? But your mother—”

“My mum does it, yeah,” Harry says. “My sister too. We’ve never seen eye to eye to that. So we’ve agreed to disagree on the matter.”

Louis opens his mouth, then closes it again as a sick sense of dread starts to pool in his stomach. 

“Then what the fuck was this about?” It comes out angry, far too angry. Louis clenches his jaw and closes his eyes for a second, trying to get himself together. There must be a misunderstanding. There has to be.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, and he looks genuinely perplexed, as though he has no idea what Louis is on about. As though he wasn’t more than happy to drive Louis’ body into the mattress less than half an hour ago.

“Louis?” Harry asks again, all-too gently, and the combination of his voice, the clock literally ticking down on Annie’s survival, and the fact that Louis hasn’t slept in three days and has been kept on his feet (or on his hands and knees) for most of them makes something snap inside of him.

Harry Styles and his pretty eyes are not doing this to him. No fucking way.

“I’m a _victor_ ,” he practically hisses, pulling away. “You’re a Capitol citizen. A _rich_ Capitol citizen whose family is a _known sponsor of the Games!_ Don’t pretend that you don’t know what that amounts to. I’ve been given to people for their sweet sixteens enough times to know that people like you know perfectly well what’s going on behind the scenes. So don’t pretend that—”

“Don’t pretend—what? Louis, I don’t—”

“It’s a _very_ simple arrangement,” Louis says flatly. “I offered my services, you accepted. I have delivered my end, now it’s your turn.” 

The look that spreads over Harry’s face is devastating. “What?” he says eventually, his voice strangled and small. “I—you came on to me! I thought you liked me!” 

“ _Liked_ you?” Louis sneers, and this is getting ugly, too ugly to turn back from. “We exchanged maybe ten words before I asked to come home with you. Did you think I was blown away by your sparkling personality?”

“No—I mean—” Harry now looks as though Louis just slapped him, but his expression is hardening. “I didn’t think you wanted to _marry_ me, but I was naïve enough to think you at least found me attractive, sure!” 

Louis throws his hands up and turns, sweeping his legs off the side of the bed. 

“If you’re truly so ignorant about how the Capitol works,” he says, starting to rummage around angrily for his clothes, “do me a favour and educate yourself. We don’t have any illusions about what we’re worth to you people. The least you could do is be equally honest.”

As he puts on his clothes, his movements jerky and furious, Harry is completely silent behind him. “Are you honestly telling me,” he says eventually, quietly, “that you were only with me because you thought I would _pay_ you? With _sponsor gifts_?”

“Welcome to the Capitol,” Louis says, standing. “If you’re still confused, I suggest you get your mum to explain a thing or two to you.”

He doesn’t look back as he leaves.

* * *

There’s a bar Louis knows well only a few streets away, and he combs his fingers through his hair as he walks, seething quietly. It shouldn’t be allowed for a Styles to be this ignorant of how the Capitol works. _Honestly._

The bar is muted and dark, and is one of the few where there are no telescreens on the walls. Louis never had to scrounge for much sponsor support last year, so he only went here for drinks and to be away from having the Games broadcast in his face all the time. He also knows, however, that Finnick has found plenty of people in this particular place willing to lighten their pockets for a kiss and a few compliments. It may be possible to find a sponsor here. Capitol citizens hanging out at places like these tend to be uncomfortable with the violence of the Games, and they are more often inclined to sponsor weaker tributes. Annie’s breakdown may be just the thing to tug at their heartstrings. 

He’s only just made contact with a woman sitting at the bar, however, when her telecommunicator along with everybody else’s pings suddenly, and every head turns towards Louis, just as the bracelet on his wrist starts blinking urgently.

Louis leaves his seat and runs towards the exit.

* * *

As soon as Louis arrives back at the mentor’s lounge, he can tell something is wrong. Every mentor is on their feet—Morgana is standing still and controlled like a doll, while her fellow One mentor Cashmere is holding hands with her brother Gloss, identical taut expressions on their perfect faces. All the mentors are gathered around the central screens, even the ones whose tributes were already long gone by the time Louis left for that sorry excuse for a party, as well as all the other former victors who aren’t out on some kind of assignment. It’s obviously heading towards the finish. Haymitch has even left his liquor bottle by his console. 

“What’s happening?” Louis asks, and Johanna Mason turns a harried face towards him. 

“They broke the dam. The Arena is completely flooded.”

It takes a moment for Louis to realise what she’s saying, and then he draws in a breath, almost reeling under the implications. Water. That means there’s a chance. 

“Annie?” he asks, and she nods. 

“Still going strong. One of six. Cash and Morgana just lost their girl, but their boy’s still swimming.” Johanna curls her lip, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It was,” she says, pausing deliberately, “an earthquake.”

Louis looks at her. She rolls her eyes. 

“Such a _timely_ earthquake,” she says, and doesn’t even bother to hide her sarcasm. Johanna is really at the nothing-to-lose point by now. “Coming, as it did, to break the dam just after Boy Five had decided it was a good idea to treat Boy Eleven like a piñata.”

Louis feels the bile rise in his throat. Boy Five has been teetering on the edge for the last couple of days, and yesterday’s attack on Jonas and Annie was savage and just barely on the right side of sanity. During the night, he’s apparently gone and lost it completely. 

“And what about him?” Louis manages to ask. 

“Still alive, too—unfortunately. I guess they weren’t counting on a Five boy knowing how to swim.” Johanna laughs shortly. “I’m sorry, did I say _they_? I meant that the _earthquake_ wasn’t counting on it, of course.”

Louis shoots her a look, but she just sneers. She’s been spiralling these Games, growing more and more reckless. He’s been wondering what to do about it, but she’s been shutting them all out more and more as Finnick has been making his feelings for Annie painfully clear, and he doesn’t know if he has a way of reaching her any longer. 

“Go check on your girl,” she says, turning away from him. “I need a beer.”

* * *

The next hour is excruciating. They’re all standing there, watching their tributes trying to keep afloat, everyone silent and still. 

Boy Nine is the next one to go, his movements growing steadily slower until his head is only barely above water, empty eyes staring downwards. He sinks quietly, and his mentor Fava turns and leaves without a word. 

After him, District Two’s girl is swallowed up as she’s spun into an eddy. Ten minutes after that, the cannon booms for Boy Five. For the first time, they all stir. 

“Thank everything that’s holy for that,” Seeder says. Her girl is one of the three still floating, and her words carry to all the spectating mentors. “I thought we were going to have the 41st Games all over again…”

No one else says anything, but even Boy Five’s mentor Weld looks relieved. An insane victor isn't good news to anyone. 

The remaining tributes have been swimming for over an hour now. Louis moves forward until he’s standing with Finnick, gripping his shoulder tightly. Annie is swimming on what looks like some sort of autopilot—her strokes even and calm, but her eyes completely dead. 

Girl Eleven goes down, and Seeder swears quietly. They’ve had a surprisingly good year, and it must rankle, falling at the finish line. Eleven could have used the victory, too—the last one was twenty-five years ago, and Chaff has never been the most popular victor. Louis almost feels sorry for them, but then he looks at Finnick’s drawn face and forgets everything but the hope that Annie might make it out of this after all. 

Another half an hour passes, and Louis can see Annie beginning to flag up on the screen, but then Boy One sinks below the water and doesn’t come up again. 

As the cannon fires, Morgana draws her breath in hard through her nose, folding her arms. It’s her first year as a mentor, and it’s always hard to have hope snatched away at the last minute. She nods at Louis shortly, an attempt at civility, then leaves. 

Gloss, who’s probably supposed to be on journalist duty anyway, disentangles from his sister and turns away, kicking the nearest chair over with a shouted curse. Cashmere, always the more sanguine of the twins, comes over to Finnick and Louis and reaches out to shake their hands. 

“Congratulations,” she says. “And you make sure to take care of her now.”

“We will,” Louis says, squeezing her hand gratefully. Finnick only manages a choked _thank you_ before rushing out. 

Louis is about to follow, but Cashmere holds on to his hand tightly and draws him closer to her. 

“This may not have gone the way they wanted,” she murmurs quietly in his ear, wrapping her free arm around him to give the illusion that they’re just hugging it out. “You may be in for some hard times. Be careful.”

Louis draws back, wary, and she gives him a brilliant Career smile. 

“Well done,” she says, and he sees her tilt her head for the best angle of the cameras, hidden even here in this room. “You’ve mentored a wonderful victor.”

He tries to smile back at her and walks off after Finnick, severely discomfited.

* * *

It is a terrible thing to find out that things can always get worse. In the week following Annie’s victory, he quickly realises that Cashmere’s gloomy prophecy has already been proven true. It is clear that someone upstairs is not happy with them. 

Finnick is sent on appointment after appointment, with several patrons falling well beyond the level of sadism he’s become used to. Since he’s more or less living by the side of Annie’s hospital bed, doped up on painkillers, this isn’t as much of a blow as it might have been in previous years, but Louis can see it starting to take its toll. It doesn’t help that Johanna, normally Finnick’s closest confidante and the one to keep him balanced during bad months on the circuit, is suddenly on some sort of self-destructive kick. Or, for that matter, that Louis is backed up on appointments, promotional events and interviews. It feels like the shit storm has really hit. And although Mags, Ursula and the rest of their team are doing their best to pick up the slack, it’s clear that he and Finnick, as this year’s actual mentors, are under the real heat. 

Louis feels naïve. At the time Annie climbed onto the hovercraft, he was thinking that this win would be at worst a little anticlimactic—but it doesn’t take long for him to realise that District Four has, apparently, committed some very grave sin.

They’re in the District Four quarters trying to work out a strategy for a “Which Victor”-interview when an Avox arrives with a message for Finnick. By the way his expression freezes as he reads it, it’s probably not anything good. Not that Louis expected anything of the kind. 

“Problem?”

“The ripples have reached back home,” Finnick says, screwing the message into a ball. Louis feels his whole body go cold. 

“Our families?” 

“Not yet,” Finnick soothes quickly. “Just their livelihoods, right now.”

Louis feels ashamed at the relief. His family, consisting only of his mother and his sisters, is small enough that he can provide for them himself with his victor’s money. The extended Odair family, large enough to have their own dock, is not so lucky. Then again, if things continue in this vein, his family will be on the chopping block as well before long. 

“I don’t even know what it is they want,” he says hopelessly. 

Finnick frowns. “They want a strong, sexy victor. Someone who has a number of kills under their belt from the Games. Who they can sell, not one who won by default and has panic attacks during interviews.”

Louis feels as though he’s skirting the edge of some great ravine. He doesn’t know how Finnick’s and Annie’s relationship works right now; Annie has only just started to speak again, and so far, Finnick is the only person she seems to even recognise.

“Not like we can do anything about that,” he says awkwardly, and adds without knowing if it’s even remotely true, “She just needs some time.”

“We won’t get it,” Finnick says. “But as long as she’s safe, I’m grateful. I can handle the extra shifts.”

Louis nods; there’s not much left to do, really. They’re sent home a week later, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief. Four months until the Victory Tour kicks Capitol interest in the districts back up, and more than ten until he has to go back again for next year’s Games. No matter how tightly Snow screws on the pressure on District Four in the meantime, it’s miles better than what he just left.

Louis leans back against his seat and closes his eyes, letting the rhythmic movement of the train calm him. He’s on his way home.


	2. Chapter Two

The first thing Louis did with his new-found riches after he came back from the Games was to buy each of his sisters a boat of their own. 

They all grew up on boats, of course. They’re dock kids, and the fishing boats were their daycare, their training ground, and for Louis and Lottie also their job. But they never had their own boats, just for the joy of it. 

Today, with the sun shining bright and the wind at a steady ten knots, is a great day for getting some mileage out of his purchase and putting the awfulness of the Capitol behind him. 

“You forgotten what the telltales are for?” Lottie calls over at him, veering her dinghy over dangerously close to his and laughing as she manages to steal the wind out of his sail. “Trim your sail, brother! See you at the finish line!”

“Pirate!” Louis yells after her, but she only laughs louder. 

Before his victory, she was working as a deckhand on the Capitol-owned sailing yachts docking in one of the fancier lagoons, taking tourists out for day tours. It’s made her an excellent sailor, and it’s wonderful to see her in action now. 

If he slips up, she’ll be going back there. And soon, she’ll be close enough to legal age that the mere thought is enough for a sick feeling to pool in Louis’ gut. 

Ahead of him, Lottie changes tack quickly and easily, racing back towards him. Louis tries to think of an insult, but when she shoots past him now, it’s only to shout, “Mum’s waving.”

Louis looks back over his shoulder. Sure enough, he can just make out mum’s figure back at the dock, waving a white cloth over her head. White, that’s for the Capitol. Shit. 

He veers back towards the dock, ducking down as the sail swings over, and follows Lottie back.

* * *

The line to the Capitol is playing some insipid music. Louis grits his teeth, watching the minutes tick away on the living room clock. They call him up, and then they always make him wait. It’s the kind of perverse power play thing the Capitol is fond of. 

Finally, the line crackles into life. 

“Louis Tomlinson?”

“I’m here,” Louis responds. As if he hasn’t been waiting for fifteen minutes.

“I’m Marcipor, from Victor Affairs.” The man clears his throat. “You have a guest coming in. She will be arriving in District Four this Saturday.” 

Louis stomach plummets. Marcipor is continuing with dates and times, detailing the visit, but Louis can hardly hear over the ringing in his ears. 

“No,” he says. 

There is a brief pause. “No?” Marcipor asks. 

Louis winces, trying to make his voice reasonable and firm without being confrontative. “I’m not supposed to have—guests from the Capitol here. This is my _home_.” That comes out as half an accusation and half a plea. 

“Yes,” Marcipor says with infuriating calm, “and that home is one of our most popular tourist spots. I believe you are very aware of this. You were host to a couple of extremely well-received holidays only last year.”

_Exactly_ , Louis thinks but doesn’t reply. It had been a rude awakening to find that the circuit did not end with the Games. Around New Year’s, he’d been forced to play host to not one but three consecutive visits from Capitol patrons. 

“But I only just got back,” he says helplessly. 

“Then I have good news for you,” Marcipor says, in a tone of voice that makes it very clear to Louis that he does not have good news. “This guest is someone you already know from last year, Artema Gildemeister. She ensures me that you had a wonderful time. I’m sure you will be glad to see her again.”

Louis glares at the phone. He’s never entirely sure just how much these Victor Affairs people know, but Marcipor’s ironic tone makes it clear that he, at least, knows just how much of a chore Gildemeister is. Last year, she spent her entire stay in District Four banging on about her former lover. 

(Reading between the lines, Louis got that the guy cleaned out one of her safes and made off with a hovercraft while he was at it. He privately salutes the man.)

“She’s booked a full three weeks,” Marcipor adds smugly, and something in Louis snaps. 

“I won’t do it,” he says. 

This time, the pause is longer. “I’m sorry,” Marcipor says eventually. “I have some interference on the line. Can you repeat that, please?”

“You can’t make me do this,” Louis says. No going back now. “I’ve only been back from the Capitol for a few days. I’ve hardly had time to see my family. You can’t force me to—” 

“I am so sorry you feel this way,” Marcipor interrupts. “We had no idea! It was our belief that you enjoyed your visits from the Capitol elite.” There is another brief pause. “Would you like me to get President Snow on the line so that you can explain your feelings to him directly?”

Louis goes cold all over, and only part of it is from rage at the threat. He hates how much hold the president has over all of them. “No,” he says humbly. “I’m sorry. A couple of long nights catching up to me, that’s all. But of course I would be very happy to host Artema again. I have fond memories from last time.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Marcipor says. “She would be heartbroken not to see you. So, to reiterate, Artema is expecting a three-week cruise of the District Four sights. We have arranged for you to meet her at the Belmond Hotel at seven o’clock this Saturday...”

Louis listens with half an ear, all the while trying to quell the impulse to throw the phone at the wall. The unbearable smugness of it all is the worst of it. 

Still, he realises as he listens to Marcipor listing the requirements for the trip, at least the unlimited budget associated with these kind of bookings means that a few of his friends might get something good out of this.

* * *

When he arrives at the bar, Niall is already in place and—to Louis’ complete lack of surprise—halfway through a beer. He waves cheerfully. 

“I started a tab in your name,” he states as Louis comes up to him. Louis grins at him. Niall has dealt with Louis’ newfound riches by assuming that part of them naturally fall to him, which is actually pretty nice. Louis never has to worry about embarrassing him, because Niall has taken one look at embarrassment and decided that it’s not for him. 

“I’ll go get you a refill, then,” he says. “And I might even get myself something, too.”

“Careful. Don’t blow all your money at once.”

The bar is almost empty. It’s only open during tourist seasons, because no one apart from the victors has the money for the kind of overpricing that goes on here. Since there are still some Capitol tourists trickling in, however, it’s possible to get a cold one for a while yet. After that, they’ll be reduced to white liquor, and Louis has seen enough of Haymitch Abernathy to know that that’s not a good idea in the long run. 

“All good on the boats?” he asks as he returns to Niall’s table. “I heard there was some trouble before.”

Niall rolls his eyes. He works in one of the fisheries, doubling as a tour guide in tourist times. “The Odair boats were docked for two weeks. We were lent out to the Andersons, so it worked out for us, but it’s good to be able to return home again. I suppose someone wanted to make a point?” 

Louis shrugs, uncomfortably aware of the possibility of being overheard and reported—especially here, in a bar so heavily reliant on the Capitol’s good will. “Maybe,” he says. “But it’s all back to normal now?”

“Sure. And you know, could have been worse. The Andersons have a pretty cool crew; it was a good couple of weeks. Tuna fishing’s good right now, too—we’re making the quotas finally.”

Louis nods. It’s always a tricky business, managing to fill the Capitol’s needs without overfishing the population. Especially since the Capitol is so fickle and trend-based—once someone starts gushing over shrimp or whatever, everyone wants it. Part of every dockmaster’s job is doctoring the reports about population just enough that the Capitol demands don’t completely destroy the industry. 

“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “do you still have that old ketch?” 

Niall looks offended. “ _That old ketch_? Her name is _Ainsley_ , thank you. Show some respect.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “And is she or is she not in need of some love and repairs amounting to, roughly, a shitload of money?” 

“Well, sure. You don’t have to be mean about it.”

“What would you say if I could get you that shitload?”

Niall looks intrigued, then suspicious. “What would it cost me?”

Louis sighs. “I have this Capitol tourist coming in. Wants the _authentic_ District Four experience.”

“Oh, _authentic_.” Niall grins. “I get it. Easy on the GPS, heavy on the hemp rope.”

“Right. I have carte blanche on the costs. So if you jazz her up a bit, have her newly tarred and pretty, and then plot a course of totally super authentic District Four sights, I’ll make sure they pay you through the nose.”

Niall, whose own nose is buried somewhere in his beer glass, gives him a thumbs up. When he resurfaces, he looks briefly over his shoulder and then leans closer. 

“So,” he asks, “is this just a tourist or one of those…” He trails off, raising an eyebrow. 

Apart from his mum, Niall is the only one back home who knows about the Capitol circuit. Louis blames alcohol for that. After the Games last year, they went out for what was supposed to be a few beers, but what, for Louis, turned into a full-scale drowning-your-sorrows binge. He remembers little from the early part of the evening, but he does recall sitting out on the beach in the middle of the night, sobbing into Niall’s shoulder. 

Niall, however, is a wonderful confidante. He’s always had a rather dismissive air about the Capitol at large, and it’s liberating for Louis to be able to share its ugliest secrets with someone who always has a sharp quip to contribute. 

“One of those,” Louis confirms. Niall winces. 

“OK, so I’ll need to hire deckhands. You’ll be too busy romancing to do any work, I suppose.”

“You don’t know the half of it."

Niall leans back in his chair, looking thoughtful. 

"This might be good, actually," he says eventually. "You know my great-auntie Em?" 

"Sure," Louis lies. It's impossible to keep track of Niall's family. They sprawl all over District Four, and there are old rumours that expat Horans who moved away before the rebellion can be found as far as District Twelve. 

"Well, her husband's cousin George—you’ve met George, right? Maybe not—anyway, his son’s brother-in-law’s cousin is looking for work down here with his partner. They're from up north."

Louis nods. Work is drying up in the secondary province of District Four, located in the very northernmost reaches of Panem. Whaling was a large business there back in the day, but the Capitol's relentless appetites combined with changing migratory patterns has started a steady stream of Northerners to migrate down for the last couple of years, seeking their luck further south. 

"Good sailor?" he asks, and Niall is not entirely quick enough to hide a wince. "What?"

"Ah, well, that's the thing. By all accounts, he's a bit of a disaster. I'd be doing this as a favour." Niall grins at Louis. "But I mean, what better time to teach him the ropes than on a journey with someone too daft to tell a difference? I'm sure I can whip him into some kind of shape. And if not, well, I can always fall back upon his boyfriend. He's good enough on a boat, they said." 

Louis must still look as concerned as he feels about this whole thing, because Niall waggles a hand dismissively. 

“What’s the worst that can happen? We have a couple of days of rough sailing, your Capitol bint gets seasick and spends the first week below deck, and you and I have time to break into some of that good liquor I’m sure you’ll want me to stock up on.”

Louis smiles. “I like the way you think, Horan. Better get an extra few of everything while you’re at it. You never know what Capitolites are in the mood for, and I’d _hate_ to run out of anything with such an _important_ guest on board.”

Niall grins in a way that’s positively evil, and clinks their glasses together. Louis loves his best friend.

* * *

Artema Gildemeister has booked the honeymoon suite at the Belmond—which is extremely over the top and tacky, absolutely no surprise there—so a few hours before she’s set to arrive, Louis heads over to make sure everything about the room is arranged to be suitably revolting.

Spending his clients’ money on outrageously expensive and stupid things is one of the few things about the circuit that Louis likes, and so he hums under his breath as he gleefully pulls petals from ten dozen red roses and sprinkles them around the room. Next comes artfully arranging sea shells (bought off his little sisters for roughly a month’s wages—the twins do drive a hard bargain) and putting several bottles of champagne on ice. Lastly, he turns his attention to the music player, picking out an appropriately awful playlist and putting it on repeat. There. Perfect.

He’s contemplating getting a head start on the champagne to dull the senses a bit when there’s the sound of a key card being swiped outside the door. Louis quickly opens a bottle and pours two glasses, checking his outfit and hair in the mirror before he turns around.

“Well, hello there, I—” Louis feels the suitably flirty smile he put on fall right off his face. Because instead of a 50+ woman in waist-length crimson locks and a nauseating fondness for neon jumpsuits, a young man in skin-tight white trousers and a floral silk shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist steps into the room.

_Harry Styles._

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”

It’s out before Louis has time to think. Harry doesn’t comment, just closes the door behind him and leans back against it, a small smile playing on his lips. “Hi, Louis.”

“What are—you’re _not_ supposed to be here.”

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Yet, here I am...surprise?”

Louis feels a cold shiver run down his spine. “I’m not a great fan of surprises.”

“No?” Harry says, still smiling. “Are you sure? Everyone loves surprises.” 

Louis feels an irrational need to throw the champagne he’s holding right in Harry’s smiling face. 

“Last one landed me in remake for two days,” he says bluntly. “Handling a whip is _just so tricky_ after a few drinks, you know.”

Harry’s smile falters, and Louis feels a surge of satisfaction. He raises an eyebrow in quiet challenge. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“I’m—” Harry starts, hesitating slightly before seemingly giving himself a mental shake and regaining his confidence. “I’m here for a holiday. Always wanted to see District Four from the sea. Figured you’d probably know all the best places to go?”

“Well, you’re out of luck,” Louis says. “I’m booked solid for the next three weeks. Esteemed people coming in with great expectations for my time and attention. So if you’ll just give me that key card, which you no doubt paid someone handsomely for, and go on your merry way, I’ll—”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts. “ _I’m_ your holiday guest.”

Louis stops short. “No,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes. “I spoke with Victors’ Affairs only two days ago. So unless you recently changed your name and all your credit card information, you’re definitely _not_ my guest.”

“It was arranged yesterday,” Harry replies. “I, um, overheard Mrs Gildemeister brag about her trip at a fashion show, so I… talked to her and persuaded her to let me take over the booking.”

“You— _what_?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Harry continues. “But it’s like my mum says: everyone has secrets they’re willing to make sacrifices for. I just so happened to know one of hers.”

Louis looks at him, disbelief probably written all across his face. He feels the corners of his mouth start to twitch, and a hollow-sounding laugh escapes before he can bite down on it. “I guess you changed your mind then?” he says. “All that talk about not sponsoring or knowing how the victor circuit works, and as soon as you find out, here you are, ready to play. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, really,” Louis says, anger simmering in his veins now. He sets the glasses of champagne down on a side table and walks up to Harry with slow, purposeful steps. “So you’re saying that you’re here to… what? Treat me right? Save me from the gross old lady?” He looks up at Harry through his lashes as takes the last few steps, crowding in close and placing his hands on Harry’s hips. “And how would you like me to show my _gratitude_ , hmm?”

Without waiting for a reply, he falls to his knees. Harry’s eyes widen almost comically, before he jumps to the side, away from Louis.

“I’m not—that’s _not_ why I came.”

“Isn’t it?” Louis throws back, tilting his head to the side while starting to unbutton the front of his shirt. “Then I guess this does nothing for you?” He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and gracefully pushes himself to his feet, starting in on his trousers.

“Louis, stop.”

“Sorry, I’m not familiar with that word,” Louis says, letting his trousers fall and stepping out of them, kicking them to the side. “I’m just a young man from the districts, after all. Hot-blooded and savage, but appropriately awed by the glory of the Capitol and safe enough to dabble with as long as I’m kept on a short enough leash. Vocabulary isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Harry explodes, and Louis almost takes a step back. “Will you just _shut up_ for a moment?”

“I bet you could make me shut up,” Louis counters quickly, moving back into Harry’s space and cutting off his escape route by leaning a hand against the door. “Push me down, fill me up. Keep my mouth occupied in all sorts of filthy ways.”

Harry visibly swallows, which is actually kind of distracting. Louis doesn’t usually take much note of his Capitol partners in bed, but for a moment, he flashes back to that night in the Styles penthouse. Harry moving with him, hands gentle and playful, head thrown back against those ridiculous silk pillows— 

Louis shakes off the thought. Harry’s just another patron. If anything, this awful charade proves that beyond lasting doubt. 

He’s just about to launch into seductive spiel no. 4—for clients who want to be swept off their feet and aggressively seduced—when he meets Harry’s eyes. 

Harry is glaring at him, his arms crossed in an almost protective stance over his chest and his shoulders drawn up high and tense. 

“If you’d just _listen_ for five seconds,” he says, leaning away from Louis. “I don’t want this kind of thanks. I just wanted a holiday, and I saw my chance. Do I think Mrs Gildemeister is a terrible person? Well, you’ve met her—of course I do. Did I hope you might be happy to be rid of her company for three weeks? Sure. But I wasn’t _expecting_ anything from you. Apart from some basic civility.”

Before Louis has a chance to reply, Harry puts a firm hand on his chest, walking Louis backwards into the room before pushing him away.

“I’m going down to dinner,” he says, still glaring. “Get dressed and let yourself out when you’re done being a massive git. _Good night_ , Louis.”

Harry doesn’t slam the door on his way out, but for some reason, the slow _click_ as it slides shut behind him feels like even more of a terrifying statement. Louis stares at the polished wood, feeling the full implications of his actions crash into him.

What the fuck did he just do?

* * *

He shows up at the dock next morning with a raging headache. After he left the Belmond, he spent the better part of the night walking the local beach promenade back and forth, wondering how much he just ruined things for himself. While Harry must have played very dirty to get his hands on Gildemeister’s trip, deceit is par for the course in the Capitol, and if Snow found out, he’d probably end up extending his compliments.

So the answer to that question Louis can’t stop himself from asking—namely, what Harry might do to him—is, of course, whatever he wants. Louis probably just made his and his entire family’s life more difficult than he could ever have anticipated. Any minor defiances he might have been guilty of up until this point are nothing by comparison to basically chasing a Capitol patron out of his own hotel room. And a Styles, no less. 

For starters, now, Louis has to inform Niall of the change in plans. And hope against hope that Niall hasn’t spent quite as much money as they planned, since all charges they’ve made are bound to be declined and end up forwarded straight to Louis’ account. After that, maybe Niall can help him figure out how to get out of this god-awful mess. 

What he does not expect as he arrives at _Ainsley’s_ docking space, however, is Harry, standing there and looking around with an interested air, surrounded by at least four large bags (not counting an alarming amount of hat and shoe boxes). Louis just gapes. 

“How did you—” he begins, and any thoughts he had about trying to mend fences goes right out the window. “What the hell, did you _follow_ me here?”

Harry gives him an unimpressed look. “I don’t know how you expect me to have managed to get here half an hour before you by _tailing_ you,” he says. “The name of the ship was included in the holiday docket. It didn’t take District Three smarts to figure out how to find it. Sorry, that should be _her_ , right? Boats are always a _she_?”

Before Louis has time to come up with an answer to that one, Niall leans over the railing. 

“Louis!” He looks from Louis to Harry and then back again, a small frown creasing his otherwise sunny countenance. “I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

Harry replies before Louis has the chance. “Had an early morning,” he says cheerfully. “Wanted to get out to sea as soon as possible.”

Niall stares at him. “And you are, sorry?”

“Louis’ guest for the trip,” Harry says smoothly. 

There’s a pause that’s a little too long after that, but Louis finally remembers to nod. 

“Oh, OK,” Niall says, clearly confused. “Let’s get you stowed on board, then. Lads!”

Two men arrive quickly by the bulwark and jump lightly onto the dock, nodding to Louis. It’s the first he’s seen of Niall’s promised deckhands, and he has to say, there are some serious good looks in the extended Horan clan. Neither of them look anything like Niall, though. 

“This is Colin and Bradley,” Niall says. “Colin’s family, Bradley’s soon going to be from what my auntie Em tells me.” The last part is said with a grin and an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. The darker, reedier of the two—Colin—goes a bit red at the top of his ears at the announcement; Bradley, who’s blond and blue eyed, with a lean muscled build, just rolls his eyes.

There’s something eerily familiar about both of them, but as soon as Louis gets a feeling that he knows where from, it’s like his brain goes a little fuzzy at the edges, and he loses his train of thought.

He really should have slept for another couple of hours.

Colin and Bradley both greet Harry politely, and Bradley makes off with two bags in each hand, while Colin moves over to a big trunk, which is covered in swirls of bright colour.

“Love this pattern,” he says, admiring it from several sides. “I’ll get it below deck for you.”

Harry looks alarmed. “Oh, actually, that’s shoes. It might be a bit heavy…”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Colin says. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Louis is just about to offer help (because really, the trunk looks like it weighs a tonne—how many pairs of shoes can one person _need_?), when Colin leans down, mutters something to himself, and then picks the whole thing up, easy as anything.

Louis stares after him, then looks up at Harry to share his astonishment, before he remembers that Harry’s still just a Capitolite holding Louis’ increasingly uncertain future in his hands. 

Harry, meanwhile, is not really looking at him anyway. To Louis’ mild surprise, he picks up several of his own hat boxes and starts walking somewhat unsteadily up the gangplank. He’s wearing high-heeled boots. High-heeled, _golden_ boots. Louis raises his eyes to the heavens. 

“While my deckhands are earning their keep,” Niall says above him, “can you come up here so I can have a word?”

As Colin and Bradley head out for a second round of bags and boxes, Niall draws Louis aside by the stern of the boat. 

“What’s going on, Louis?” he mutters. “This one doesn’t look as though his name is _Mrs_ Gildemeister. Also, his face does not look like the arse end of a donkey. Or, I mean, if that’s your definition of ugly, you have a lot higher standards than I thought.”

“There was a mix-up,” Louis says shortly. “Plan is still the same. Stick to the tour. And if you could manage to induce that seasickness you were talking about, that’d be grand. For now, let’s just go.”

“At some point, we’re going to need to have a longer conversation about this,” Niall says. When Louis only glares at him, and Colin and Bradley appear to be finished with the luggage, he eventually shrugs and raises his voice. “Colin! Release the forward line!” 

Colin makes a thumbs-up, then reaches for one of the mooring lines. 

“That’s the forward _spring_!” Niall shouts, as Bradley hurries over to help. “Colin, for fuck’s sake! We went over this!”

“So, I see the reports of his ineptitude were not exaggerated,” Louis says, and Niall rolls his eyes. 

“What can I do to help?” Louis hears Harry’s voice behind him, and turns to see Harry changed into a pair of rather more sensible shoes and a shirt with barely any glitter. 

“Sorry?” he says. 

Harry ignores him, looking at Niall. “Is there anything I can do? I don’t know much about boats, but if there’s something that needs stowing or something, I could probably do that if you have time to show me.”

Niall stares at him, glances briefly at Louis and then clears his throat. “While we’re casting off, it’s probably best if you just stay out of the way,” he says. “Sorry, but it can be a bit frantic. You could take care of the fenders—the big balloony things hanging off the side—once we’re off. All of those should be untied and stowed in the front. Bradley can show you. But for now, just hang back on the starboard—the right side of the boat.”

“OK, thanks,” Harry says, gives Niall one of those unbelievably charming smiles he’s got going on, and heads off. 

Niall stares at Louis. 

“What the hell is this? You didn’t tell me we had a Capitolite who actually wants to do something! How serious is he?”

Louis snorts. “I don’t know,” he says, exasperated. “I was going to tell you; he sort of stole this holiday from my initial client. I have no idea how sanctioned it is, but his family has some serious pull in the Capitol, so there is that. I think we just go on as though nothing has happened. I’ll have to deal with the fallout from Gildemeister later.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “OK, whatever you say. Can you take care of the aft lines?”

Louis shrugs irritably and heads for the lines. This whole situation isn’t doing anything for his headache. 

Several minutes and only a minor accident later—involving a rope burn courtesy of Colin that Louis knows is going to smart for days—they’ve left the dock and are heading steadily out towards the open sea. Louis looks up from coiling the aft lines and sees Harry gamely struggling with a pair of fenders half his own size. Bradley has moved over to talk to him, and Louis sees Harry laugh delightedly at whatever Bradley tells him—or maybe just at that perfect face, all dark blue eyes and pretty features. Louis feels annoyance surge through him; the last thing he needs for this trip is Harry causing drama for Niall’s family as well. 

He has no idea what Harry’s game is, but whatever it is, it can’t be any good.

A creaking halyard reminds him of where he is. Louis tears his gaze away from Harry, sighs, and turns his focus back to the ship.


	3. Chapter Three

“As soon as we’re out past the lighthouse, we can set sail,” Niall says as they leave the port. “Just the mainsail to begin with. But for now, just hang back and wait.”

“How does that work?” Harry asks, turning to Colin. “Setting sail, I mean. Could you tell me about it while we’re waiting?”

“I can talk you through it,” Colin agrees.

“Sure, you show him,” Niall says, adding as the both of them amble off towards the mainsail, “There’s no way that could end badly.”

“Don’t underestimate Colin,” Bradley says, climbing up through the hatch that leads down to the small engine room. “When I first met him, I thought he was utterly hopeless. He proved me wrong pretty quick. Won’t let me forget it, either.”

Louis tilts his head meaningfully towards the mainsail, where Colin is in the middle of getting both himself and Harry tangled in the peak halyard. “Yes. I can tell. Masterful hoisting technique, there. Very impressive.”

“He might end up surprising you,” Bradley replies easily. “He usually does.”

“Whatever you say,” Louis says, grinning. “Come help me prep the staysails, and we might actually get out on open water soon.”

“Sure thing. I’ll take the spitfire if you take the other one.”

“The what now?”

“The spitfire,” Bradley repeats. “The outer stay sail.”

“That’s the _outer jib_ ,” Louis says, confused. “What are you up to in the North? No whales left to hunt, so you just sit around making up words?”

For a split second, Bradley looks like he wants to kick himself. Then he shrugs, and the confident smile returns. “Hey now, my granny always called it that. Do you really want to go up against a eighty year old sailmaker? Because she’ll grill you like piece of cod.”

“Better not risk it,” Louis replies. “Are you sure you’re from up North, though?” He moves his hand to indicate Bradley’s face and hair. “Blond doesn’t really run in whaling families.”

Bradley laughs. “Peacekeeper brat,” he says. “Mum tried to keep it quiet, but well. She wasn’t married, and I didn’t exactly get the normal colouring. People always knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says awkwardly. Bradley turns his head and looks out over the ocean for a while. Then he shrugs. 

“It happens,” he says. “Not like I was the only one, even in our town. Winters up North can be pretty brutal. People do what they have to in order to survive.”

That might be why he looks familiar, as well, Louis thinks. He has a distinct feeling that he’s seen Bradley before, but it’s as though the memory of where is deliberately eluding him. Peacekeeper heritage makes sense, though. He sure saw enough of them while being paraded around Panem during his Victory Tour to know they come in all colours. 

“How did you and Harry meet?” Bradley asks, changing the subject. “I imagine being a victor, you have access to all sorts of glamorous events?”

Louis forces himself to smile. “You could say that. Met him at a party, actually. One where at least three people that I saw were dressed up as me.”

“Sounds wild,” Bradley says. “I’m partial to Morgana, myself. Couldn’t tear myself away from her games last year. Same with Colin. Though I think he secretly rooted for that guy with the annoyingly shiny hair. Tosser.”

Louis gives a non-committing shrug and starts walking over to the staysails. Bradley follows him.

“Are you and Morgana close?” he asks. “I imagine you would be, being from Career districts and all?”

“Not really,” Louis replies. “We’ve crossed paths at a couple of events, but we don’t really move in... the same circles, let’s say.” He’s quite proud of himself for keeping most of the bitterness out of his voice on that one. The victors who are regularly put on the circuit are a tight-knit group, and so far, Morgana hasn’t made an appearance.

“So she sticks with the Ones?” Bradley continues, clearly oblivious to the signals Louis is sending. “Cash and Gloss taking good care of her?”

“Helen and Nimueh mainly, from what I’ve seen,” Louis says shortly. “She and Ursula seem pretty chummy. What’s it to you?”

“Just curious,” Bradley says quickly. Louis rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the sail in front of him. Whatever. Not like Bradley having a crush on a One victor is any of his business, anyway.

* * *

Harry comes up to Louis as he’s securing the lines in the bow. 

“So,” he says, “we never had time to discuss the plan.”

Louis frowns. “The plan?”

“I realise we got off to kind of a bad start,” Harry says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “But I’m hoping we can just move past that. I’m really looking forward to seeing District Four; I’ve been wanting to come for a long while.” He grins at Louis. “So where are we heading now, for starters?”

“Well,” Louis says, swallowing down a sigh, “the plan for Ms Gildemeister’s holiday—”

“My holiday,” Harry interrupts gently. “I bought the contract off of her. It’s mine now.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. Well, then. 

“Right,” he says, making himself smile. “Then we’ll just have to make your holiday as memorable as possible, won’t we?”

“I mean, I don’t want to be a bother,” Harry adds quickly. “I know this change was very short notice for you. I’m fine with any last-minute rebooking fees you might have encountered; I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“No problem at all,” Louis replies. “Truly. You’ll find District Four extremely accommodating. And Niall and his crew are hired per day; they’ll go wherever you want them to go.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Well, all right, then. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Louis repeats, feeling himself slip further into the role of enthusiastic tour guide. “So, tonight, we’re heading to Oyster Bay. It’s a great little place, I’m sure you’ll love it. I’ve made reservation at one of the hotels there for the night, and then we’ll go back out to sea in the morning. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Harry replies, smiling widely. “I can’t wait to really experience what it’s like to be a sailor.”

Louis is sorely tempted to tell him a few stories about what life as a sailor is really like, but manages to restrain himself. Three weeks, and Harry will be gone. Louis can manage three weeks.

“Perfect,” he echoes instead, answering Harry’s smile with one of his own. “I’m sure you’ll love every second of it.”

* * *

They get out to sea without any major accidents (no thanks to Colin and Harry; _honestly_ , how has Colin managed to go the entirety of his life without learning the difference between peak and throat?), and spend the day cutting smoothly through the water until they reach the first stop on Niall’s route.

Oyster Bay used to be a small hamlet centered around a canning factory, until about five years ago when some Capitol bigwig happened to travel through, decided the beach next to the cannery was pretty, and turned the whole thing into an exclusive Capitol holiday spot—heavy on glittering champagne bars and casinos, light on unattractive things like housing and work for the poor, local population. There is a veneer of “local charm” over everything in the town, with the shops decorated in the kind of shabby chic fashion that the Capitol for some reason associates with the seaside, and with striped shirts apparently as the peak of fashion. In short, it’s the kind of place Gildemeister probably raved about to her friends back home after last year’s holiday— _sooo unspoiled, darling!_

Louis would like to take a blowtorch to the whole thing. 

“I’ll confirm our room,” he tells Harry. “The hotel is over by the north side of the bay; very pretty. I’m thinking dinner there, and then we’ll see what the night has to offer.”

“Sure,” Harry says. “I’d love to visit one of the local bars.”

“We’ll arrange for that, then,” Louis says brightly. “I know a few great little places.”

Wonderful, he thinks privately. Now all he has to do is figure out which of the “local” bars is the least soul-sucking.

“Someplace relaxed and fun?” Harry suggests, sounding hopeful. “With local music, maybe?”

“Sure thing,” Louis replies, mentally resigning himself to a night of listening to the same ten completely-authentic-and-not-at-all-bastardised-beyond-all-recognition District Four shanties on repeat. “Lots of those around.”

* * *

The hotel restaurant is up on the roof, with a panoramic view of the ocean and flower covered gazebos giving each table the illusion of privacy (while still letting the guests keep tabs and eavesdrop on people around them). A smartly dressed server leads them to a table, keeps a polite distance while Louis pulls out Harry’s chair, and then approaches to pop open the bottle of champagne that is already waiting for them.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Our specials tonight are…”

Louis listens with half an ear while the man outlines the menu, doing his best to hold back a wince when at least three types of fish where populations are running critically low are mentioned. 

“I’ll have the clam chowder and a side of grilled vegetables, please,” Harry says, once the presentation ends.

The server nods and smiles. “Very good, sir. And for the other courses?”

“Nothing else, please,” Harry replies. “A light meal is fine.”

The server looks between Harry and Louis, confusion clear on his face.

“I can assure you, sir, we have the very best _videz-gorges_ to accompany your meal. Imported directly from the Capitol.”

Louis suppresses another wince. The tiny glasses of clear liquid to “create space” for yet another wasteful plate of food is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get fully used to.

“Thank you, but no,” Harry says. “Just the chowder and veggies, please. Louis, what would you like?”

Louis looks back, startled, before he remembers himself. “I’m sure whatever you pick will be wonderful, love,” he says, sending Harry a flirty smile.

“But I don’t know what you like,” Harry argues, and Louis fights the urge to point out how irrelevant that statement is in their current situation.

“Anything is fine.”

“Do you like halibut?” Harry persists. “Shrimp? Clams? Come on, Louis, give me something to work with, here.”

Their server is now starting to look panicked rather than just confused. Louis gets why: it’s always the people who fall outside of the norm who end up with the most impossible and/or unpleasant requests—both in Louis’ current occupation and in the general service industry. 

“I’ll have the same thing as you,” Louis decides quickly, handing his menu to the server. “I haven’t had a good chowder in ages.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, frowning. “I mean it. Pick anything you like.”

“Thank you, but no,” Louis replies, mimicking Harry’s words from earlier, and remembering at the last moment to add a teasing quirk of his lips. “A light meal sounds excellent.”

“Very well, sirs,” their server interjects, before any further argument can get started. “I’ll be right back with your _amuse-bouches_. Please enjoy.”

He tops up their (virtually untouched) glasses and disappears in the direction of the kitchens.

Louis looks around the room, taking in some of the other tables—still quite a lot of tourists here, it seems—then turns back to Harry, prepared to launch into one of the delightful anecdotes he prepared when he was forced to go through this circus last year. 

His words stick in his throat, however, when he looks at Harry and sees him staring out over the ocean, with his chin propped up on one hand and a wonderful, somewhat inward smile on his face. 

“We don’t really get sunsets back home, you know,” he says dreamily. 

“You know I’ve been in the Capitol, right?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know you are beholden to basic laws of physics and nature like the rest of us.”

Harry actually laughs at that. “No, I just mean…” He sweeps a hand out, encompassing all the wide, glittering sea below them. “It’s so open. At home, there are buildings everywhere. You never get to see the sun actually set. Not even if you’re up high—there are lights everywhere, and you never get the sky burning up like this. It’s beautiful.”

Louis looks out over the ocean. It really is wonderful. 

“One of our many privileges,” he says, taking a sip of his champagne. 

Harry turns back to him, his face falling. “Louis, please,” he says. “I was just trying to admire the view.”

Louis almost feels bad. Harry looks trodden on, and it’s a heartbreaking look on him. 

Louis knows that normally, he wouldn’t dare needle any client as much as he has Harry. And it’s a bit frightening, too—he feels himself wanting to push the boundaries even further, just to see how much he can get away with. That’s not a healthy game to play with a Capitolite. 

“Sorry,” he says, giving Harry his sincerest smile. “Couldn’t help myself. I agree, though. I can never resist a good sunset.”

“It must be wonderful to be out at sea on an evening like this.” 

This time, Louis stops himself from pointing out that most people in District Four don’t have time for leisure sailing. 

“Wind tends to drop in the evening,” he says instead. “Unless you’re sailing through the night, most people would probably be at dock already.”

Harry leans his arms on the table. “Oh, right, I wondered about that. I was thinking about the lighthouses. How do you navigate by them?”

Louis leans back. “Well, they mark reefs, so you don’t sail into them,” he begins, and Harry laughs. 

“I got that much,” he says gently. “No, I was wondering, at night they’d all just be points of light, yeah? So how do you tell one from the other? How do find your way to a specific port at night?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Oh, OK,” he says, moving his champagne glass aside. This is actually something he can talk about without being nauseated. “So what you do is, you always measure off against your chart. Some lighthouses have specific signals, like a set rhythm or pulse. A lot face in a certain direction or span. If your chart says,” he moves the salt and pepper shakers into the centre of the table, “one lighthouse here and one here, and this fork is the boat. Let’s say this lighthouse, for example, is broadcasting light in a northeasterly quarter like this, then if your boat is going north…”

“Excuse me,” a high-pitched nasal voice breaks in, swooping down at Harry in a flurry of pink feathers. “I hate to interrupt, but I just had to come over and say hello. Harry, _darling_ , so nice to see you again, it’s been aaaages!”

Harry looks startled, but covers nicely. “Oh, of course,” he says, kissing the woman’s cheek. “Who could ever forget the...”

“The President Charity Ball,” the woman says happily. “I _know_. Weren’t the fireworks _amazing_?” Before Harry even has a chance to reply to that, the woman lowers her voice and leans closer. “Oh, by the way, I don’t know if you heard, but me and Amos split up. So I went back to the last husband’s name. I always thought that had a more snappy sound, anyway. Laurentia Vargas. So much better, right?”

It might be Louis’ imagination, but he thinks Harry looks relieved at having the name confirmed. Well, being part of the Styles clan probably comes with an endless array of interchangeable sycophants. “I always thought that was a lovely name,” he says. 

“Anyway,” Ms Vargas continues, “won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh,” Harry says, as Louis gets ready to stand up and bow. “Um, yes. This is—”

Ms Vargas gives a hiccoughing little laugh that ends on a squeaky snort. “Harry, dear, you’re a scream!” she exclaims, swatting his arm playfully. “As if anyone could forget the way Louis Tomlinson _thrust_ his way to victory in the Hunger Games two years ago. _Wonderful_ technique with that spear of his, we all thought.”

For the first time, she looks directly at Louis, and he wishes she hadn’t. He can feel his skin crawling all over. 

“So I was dreadfully sorry to break off your delightful little tête-à-tête, of course,” she continues, turning back to Harry. “But I was just wondering if you’d let me buy him a drink later? Unless you have other plans, of course.”

Louis goes cold. Finnick’s told him this happens sometimes—victors being bartered and shared on appointments. But he never prepared himself for it actually happening to him, and certainly not like this, so crude and shameless. He feels his breath come quicker. Maybe he’s misreading the situation. Maybe this woman is trying to flirt with Harry in some roundabout way.

Right. And maybe compasses will start pointing to the South.

He stares at Harry, trying not to let the panic show. 

“Oh,” Harry says. “I’m sorry, Laurentia dear, but we were actually just leaving.” 

Ms Vargas raises her eyebrows, her fluorescent pink mouth puckering in a disappointed moue. “Oh, really? I thought you’d only just arrived.”

Harry grins. “Well, can you blame me? You must realise I want him all to myself.” He tips Louis a wink, stretching out a hand to run a finger down Louis’ hand, still holding his fork in the position of a boat going North like some kind of idiot. 

Louis is torn between relief at getting away from the awful woman in pink and rage at the casual ownership Harry’s showing. Louis knows he’s bought and sold—his first year on the victor’s circuit made that obviously, painfully clear—but he still can’t quench the anger. And somehow, it’s made all the worse coming from Harry, when he was talking about sunsets only minutes ago. 

Harry gives Louis’ hand a possessive squeeze and then stands, smoothing down his shirt. 

“Shall we?” he says, then smiles at Ms Vargas. “Lovely to see you again, Laurentia.”

Louis scrambles to his feet, grabbing the bottle of champagne by the neck, and throws a smile he hopes doesn't look as hateful as it feels in the direction of Ms Vargas before hurrying after Harry. 

He finds Harry standing in the lobby outside, fretting with the hem of his shirt. The receptionist is looking at him curiously, but melts away discreetly when Louis glares at her. Whatever demands Harry is about to make, Louis would prefer not to have an audience. 

“Horrid woman,” Harry says. “I’m sorry for changing our plans like that, but she would have been glued to us all night.”

Louis nods. “She certainly seemed _very_ friendly.”

“There are people like that at every party and event,” Harry says, shrugging. “You learn to navigate them. Get out while still stroking their ego and without upsetting the status quo.”

“Right,” Louis says shortly, and decides that he might as well hurry things along, get them over with. He moves closer to Harry, just enough to press his front lightly to Harry’s side and place a hand on his shoulder. “Up to the room, then?”

Harry looks startled for a second, and then carefully takes a step back. “That’s not why we left.”

“Riiiight,” Louis says. “It’s fine, you know. Not everyone wants to share their toys. Can’t say I’m unhappy about it.”

“What do you mean _share my toys_?” Harry demands. “That’s a _horrible_ thing to—I’ve told you why I’m here. I’ve _fucking told you_ I don’t want to buy that kind of favours. I—”

“But you have,” Louis interrupts him, feeling himself start getting angry as well. “Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you _are_ only here for a holiday, noble to the core, etc etc. But the second you transferred your name onto that contract, you had me. I’m yours for the stay. My body just as much as my time or my skill sailing a ship. It’s all bought and paid for. By you.” 

For a minute, Harry just gapes at him. Then he grabs Louis’ arm and pulls him over to a corner of the lobby. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry, _not fair_?” 

“Yes! It’s not fair of you to keep throwing this at me, when I’ve done _nothing_ to—”

“You just told everyone in that restaurant that I’m here for your entertainment!” Louis throws back. “You pulled me away from dinner so you could have me _all to yourself_. How the fuck did you expect me to read that?”

“It was an excuse to get out of an uncomfortable situation! I wouldn’t treat you like that. You _know_ I would never—”

“But I don’t,” Louis says coldly. “I know _nothing_ about you.”

Harry stops himself from whatever he was about to say, snapping his mouth shut and pressing his lips together so hard they’re almost white. Silence stretches out between them. Louis’ mind starts racing, panic surging up his spine. There; he did it. He pushed Harry too far. “I didn’t— _fuck_ —”

“I’m going out to dinner,” Harry says, effectively shutting Louis up. “Have a nice evening.”

“Harry, I—”

“I don’t care,” Harry says. “Stay. Enjoy the room, food, whatever you want; I’m leaving.”

He walks out of the hotel lobby without a backwards glance, a hundred possibilities lining his steps.

Louis stands there, helplessly glued to his spot, and watches him go.

* * *

He wakes up with a raging headache. His mouth feels weird and sticky, and his eyes are full of goo. He probably shouldn’t have finished that entire bottle on an empty stomach last night, but there wasn’t really much else to do while waiting.

He sits up with a jolt, staring at the other side of the bed. It’s empty, apart from the vest he, himself, tossed there last night. Louis goes cold all over. 

Where the fuck is Harry?

He scrambles out of bed, looking around the room as though Harry might be hiding behind the sofa or somewhere. Nothing. His bag is still where Louis left it last night, so he hasn’t even been back for one of his alternative outfits. 

He might have gone back to the bar after dinner, of course. Yes, that’s probably it. 

Louis splashes some water on his face and combs his fingers through his hair quickly, so it isn’t quite as obvious that he just slept in his clothes, then grabs his and Harry’s bags and heads for the lobby. The receptionist is a different one from last night, which is a relief. 

“Hello,” he says. “I need to settle up for last night. Just how extravagant has my guest been?”

The girl laughs, but shakes her head. “You’re in luck,” she says. “Just the room and drinks before dinner for you. Are you sure he was in our bar or restaurant last night?”

Louis feels the dread rising. That means Harry hasn’t been seen since last night, over twelve hours ago. He was only supposed to go out for a meal—Louis should have gone after him after the first hour or so, but Harry told him to stay put, and he’d been in a right mood, and— 

He forces himself to smile. Chances are, Harry has just gone on a classical Capitol binge and is being prodded awake in one of the bars right now. 

“Just checking,” he says, trying to give the impression of someone with full control over his Capitol tourist idiot. “Wanted to make sure he hadn’t downed one here before heading out to the bars. Thank you.”

He settles his tab, still smiling, and then heads out into the salty morning air, cursing under his breath and forcing himself not to start running.

* * *

An hour later, Louis still has no clue where Harry disappeared to. He’s hit up the aftermath of the big party in town and visited a couple of the Capitol-friendly bars lining the beach promenade, but so far no one seems to have even _seen_ Harry last night. The search is limited, as well, by how vague Louis has to be in order to ensure no one cottons on to the fact that he’s gone and misplaced his tourist. 

If even a hint of this gets back to the Capitol, his sisters being caught up in the District Four tourist racket is the least of his worries. 

Louis is headed back to the _Ainsley_ to rope in Niall and the deckhands for the search, but as he gets closer to their spot at the guest dock he’s distracted by the sight of something green fluttering in the main top mast. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he last saw that particular shade of lime walking out from the hotel, into the busy night. 

The _Ainsley_ is still and quiet. Normally, at this time of the morning, Niall would be up and planning the day’s route. (He’s always been a cheerfully early riser, an awful attribute in a friend.) But now, as Louis climbs on board, it’s almost eerily quiet. 

It’s not empty, however. In the bow, Colin and Bradley are sleeping, curled together in a coil of rope. It looks as though it ought to be hellishly uncomfortable, but they look content enough. Colin’s hair is an awful mess and Bradley’s shirt is open almost to the waist, and they both seem to have acquired a bunch of bracelets Louis is sure they weren’t wearing yesterday. 

Also, there are bottles everywhere. 

The panic that is still screaming through Louis is starting to be suffused with anger. Great. So the crew went and got hammered last night. That’s going to make the search for Harry even more— 

Louis stops halfway down the stairs below, staring. Harry’s is sprawled out on one of the benches, shirtless and with one flowery shoe dangling precariously from a pointed foot. His head is propped up on one arm and he’s snoring gently, a lock of tangled hair falling down over his eyes. He is also wearing a lot of the bracelets Louis saw on Colin and Bradley. 

Louis’ nerves are still twanging, but he forces himself to sit down and take a couple of deep breaths. Harry’s alive, and apparently hasn’t suffered any major trauma last night—unless losing that shirt counts, which, well, you never know with Capitol people. But the important thing is that he’s safe. Louis didn’t bring one of the heirs to the Styles fortune to a little coastal District Four town and had him killed through negligence. 

He doesn’t even want to begin thinking about what kind of consequences that would have brought on. 

He sits there for a while longer, watching the butterfly on Harry’s chest rise and fall with his breaths, then rises. As he does so, he bumps into a low-hanging lantern Niall promised to move, and curses, wishing the world rid of lanterns, lazy Horans and everything even vaguely connected to the Capitol. 

Harry stirs, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Are we going?” he asks, squinting up at Louis. “Wait, let me just get my shoes and I’ll help.”

There are so many things Louis wants to say, but most of them would get him called up in front of Victors’ Affairs and a couple would probably fast-track him to Avox status. So instead he just bites down on everything, takes another couple of deep breaths and smiles thinly. 

“Everyone else is still asleep,” he says. “We won’t be heading out for a while yet. I was just going to drop off _your_ bag.”

He gestures sourly towards the chequered monstrosity he’s just been dragging around half the town and turns towards the cabin.

“No, wait!” Harry exclaims. “Niall is sleeping in there.”

Louis looks back at him, incredulous. 

“We couldn’t manage to hang up the hammock last night,” Harry explains, now propped up on one elbow. “So I told him to take the bed. Hope that’s OK. He really needed to sleep it off.”

“I’m sorry?” Louis says, because this is just getting stranger and stranger. “ _He_ needed to sleep it off?” 

Harry nods solemnly, his eyes closed again. “He said he couldn’t get drunk,” he says, adding in a sing-song voice, “He was wro-ong.”

Louis sits down again. 

“You,” he says flatly. “ _You_ managed to drink _Niall_ under the table.”

“Oh, no, I was wasted two drinks in,” Harry says easily, lying back down and putting one arm over his eyes. “But we met a wonderful bunch of people at this bar and _they_ drank Niall under the table. I also lost a lot of money. It turns out I’m not good at all at poker. Especially with District Four rules. I won all these fancy bracelets, though, look! They’re a local rarity, made with hand-picked shells, and really valuable. And we had a great time. The local beer was very interesting. I don’t know if it’s supposed to taste like seawater? Anyway, we brought some back so you could have some if you wanted, but I think we drank most of it. Sorry.”

Louis is silent for some time. The numerous bracelets on Harry’s arm look suspiciously like the ones his little sisters make and sell for pennies at the local market. “And that is your shirt in the mast?” he asks finally. Harry grins. 

“Oh, that. Colin bet me I couldn’t beat him to the top. But I did. So of course I had to mark my victory.”

There really isn’t a lot more to say after that, so Louis just walks back up on deck and leans against the railing, taking deep breaths of salty air until he doesn’t feel so much like punching things any more.

* * *

Understandably, their departure from the village is delayed until after lunch. Colin is surprisingly hangover-free for someone so skinny, but the others groan at the mere suggestion of getting up and doing any kind of work. 

Louis—whose own hangover settled during his panicked search for Harry into some sort of dull ache—spends the time waiting for the others to return to the land of the living by rehearsing conversations he knows he’ll never have with Harry in his head. They always end badly. Even fantasy-Harry wildly misinterprets things and ends up oddly touched by Louis’ worried anger, taking the concern to be for him, instead of for people Louis _actually_ cares about. 

When Niall finally oozes his way onto the deck, Louis decides that he’s a much safer person to vent at. 

“So,” Louis says, as Niall dunks a bucket overboard and hauls it up by the attached string, full of seawater, “Would you care to enlighten me just what happened last night?”

Niall holds up a finger, leans his head over the railing and pours the bucket’s contents slowly over his head. He then shakes his head violently, sending water flying everywhere, and finally squints at Louis. 

“I wish I could say that feels better,” he says. “Sorry, you were about to say something.”

Louis wipes the water off his face demonstratively before replying. (He’s not entirely certain Niall takes the point, though.) 

“I was about to ask you _what the hell_ you did with the Capitolite last night. I had no idea where he was! Why didn’t you at least bring him back to the hotel?”

Niall looks slightly—but only very slightly—ashamed. 

“In my defence,” he says, “that was mostly Harry’s fault.”

“Oh, really.”

“Well, if you hadn’t gone and tossed him out of the room,” Niall begins, and then falters as he looks at Louis’ face. 

“Sorry,” he says after a while. “I get that this is all kinds of weird. But he’s actually sort of nice, for a Capitolite.”

“OK, just because you two boozed together...” Louis says, but Niall shakes his head.

“It wasn’t just that. Look, me and the lads had just finished the work on _Ainsley_ and were heading out for a chowder when we ran into him. He asked to tag along, and I wasn’t too chuffed as you may imagine, but Colin’s taken a shine to him so he said yes before I could argue.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Colin is really getting to be a nuisance. 

“So we said that we were heading for this workers’ station, but that there was a nice bar on the way we could drop him off at, but he insisted on joining. And then he insisted on paying for our meals, and on having one for himself.” Niall’s grinning now. “I have to tell you, it was starting to be worth it just for the entertainment value of seeing him try to find something to compliment in a dock chowder. Anyway, he told us that you had a bit of a barney.”

Louis clenches his jaw. He’s told Niall a lot, but there are some things he still struggles with sharing. And he really doesn’t want to go into the intricacies of life as a victor right now, when all he actually wants to do is yell at someone. 

“As I understood it,” Niall says, “he was a bit of an ass.”

Louis blinks. That’s not the continuation he was expecting. 

“Well, he didn't go into detail,” Niall says, giving Louis a searching look, “but he said that he wanted to give you some space, so that’s why he’d gone out for a stroll by himself.” 

That’s a whole other version of events, really, Louis thinks, frowning. He wonders what Harry’s playing at. 

“Anyway,” Niall goes on, “so then he says, _I saw this lovely place while I was walking around before, maybe we could go there?_ And we said yes, because we thought we should keep an eye on him and, to be honest, because he was buying. But then, instead of one of those, you know, oh-so-picturesque fake little tourist bars the Capitolites usually go for he takes us to this place that’s called, and I wish I was joking, _The Spotted Clam_.” Niall stares at Louis. “I mean he’s only gone and found the absolute _worst_ dive bar in the entire town. There were people in that bar who I’m pretty sure were on their first shore visit in years! One woman was opening bottles with her teeth! And don’t get me started on the poker.”

“Yes, actually, do get started on the poker,” Louis hisses. “You let him _gamble_?”

“The pot was small change for a Capitolite, you know it,” Niall says dismissively. “And Bradley made sure it didn’t get out of hand. They seemed to have fun, I promise.” Niall yawns. “Things were a bit blurry for me by that point, to be honest. Harry, like the darling he is, told some of them about the famed Horan resistance to alcohol.”

“Because you’d bragged about it before?” Louis says pointedly, and Niall winces. 

“OK, fine, I take some of the blame for that. Anyway, that’s how I ended up in a drinking contest.” He groans, reaching for the bucket again. “I’m ninety percent sure there was blowfish venom in their liquor.”

“I’m trying very hard to have sympathy for you—”

“No, you’re not.”

“—OK, no, I’m not. If anything had happened to him, we’d all be done for. Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall says, and he looks it (although that might just be the hangover). “I didn’t think about it. He just seems like any guy, you know?”

Louis just looks at him. 

“So anyway,” Niall goes on brightly, “I was thinking we’d hit up the pearl fishers this afternoon. I’ll switch some things around in our schedule and make it work. Brace yourself for more picturesque sites—I have some truly nauseating things planned.”

“Lovely,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, and Niall grins at him.

* * *

“So this is where all your Capitol pearls come from,” Niall says, sweeping a hand to indicate the rows of boats anchored some distance from a small islet. There’s a constant flow of divers slipping out of their boats or resurfacing with steady, fluid moments, and on board each boat a child or elder is prying oysters open to look for the treasures inside. 

“The divers are excellent at figuring out which oysters are likely to contain pearls, but of course there is still quite a lot of sorting to do. After we extract and collect the pearls, they’re sent to District One, where they’re processed by the jewellery industry. And then it’s only a small step to your new necklace!”

Louis gives Niall a look. This tourist spiel sounds absolutely ridiculous coming from him. It’s a wonder that ever works. 

Harry’s frowning, looking out over the boats. “How deep is the water here?”

“Um,” Niall says. “Forty feet, maybe? It’s not one of the deeper sites.”

“I always thought pearls were cultured,” Harry says, still frowning. “I didn’t think you actually had to dive for them.”

“Cultured pearls aren’t sought after in the Capitol,” Niall says. “Well, they really can’t compare in terms of sheen and colour. So the pearl farms more or less died out around the twentieth Games or so, but the pearl diving industry has been flourishing for the past couple of years. Especially after the sixty-fifth Games and Finnick Odair’s victory—demand really spiked after that.”

By one of the closest boats, a girl emerges from the water and deposits a set of oysters. Harry stares at her. 

“Isn’t this dangerous?”

“They’re very experienced divers,” Niall says. 

“That girl doesn’t look older than fourteen!” Harry protests. “How experienced can she be?”

There’s a bit of a silence. 

“Divers usually start at about eight,” Louis says shortly. “Before that, they work the boats, with the sorting. That way, they get trained in what oysters likely containing pearls look like.”

“I can ask if they might be interested in cutting out the middle man and selling us a few pearls right now,” Niall says helpfully, because that is obviously the next step on his usual Capitol tour. Harry’s expression, however, has morphed into something horrified, and Louis catches Niall’s eye and gives a sharp shake of the head. 

“Or we could just start heading towards our next destination, of course. We have this wonderful little town we’re planning on visiting tonight,” Niall continues, but Harry interrupts. 

“I’m sorry, I was actually wondering—would it be possible for us to maybe not stay in a town tonight?” He clears his throat. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of restraints we have and stuff, but I would really like to go further out to sea. If that’s possible. I mean, it’s lovely to see the towns as well, but in some ways I feel like I haven’t even left the Capitol. And I would like to see the ocean. Really get away, I mean.”

Niall looks somewhat thrown. 

“Well,” he says eventually, “Possibly. I would have to do some rearranging. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’d be really nice of you,” Harry says earnestly. 

Niall gives Louis a look and walks off towards the helm. Louis follows quickly after. 

“OK, you know you don’t actually have to do what he asks,” he says, as soon as they’re out of earshot. “We can talk him out of this idea pretty easily. Blame the drinking water tanks.”

“Actually,” Niall says, grinning somewhat evilly, “I’m thinking that I can use this. I have family out on this island here.” He points to a small island on his marine chart, maybe two or three days’ sailing away. “We could go there and spend all Harry’s Capitol money on them.”

“Is there anywhere you _don’t_ have family?” 

“Not too many in the tourist towns, as a matter of fact. We Horans don’t do too well with servitude, you’ll be surprised to learn.”

“I’m astonished. I really am.”

“We’ll anchor by an island a little way East of here tonight,” Niall continues. “And then we’ll start heading out to my relatives’ island. It’ll mean a couple of days’ straight sailing, so we’ll have to sleep in shifts, but it should be fairly easy.”

Louis looks at the chart, assessing. He hasn’t sailed further than a day from land since before his Games. It would actually be wonderful to leave shore behind and just sail for three days straight, out on the open ocean. 

“OK, then. Let’s do some proper sailing for a change,” he says, and Niall grins at him.


	4. Chapter Four

Heading out for open waters turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. The wind picks up just the right amount to give them all a good workout and add a swooping sensation in Louis’ stomach as the ship cuts quickly through the waves. No matter how fast they go, though, Louis can’t seem to shake the sick feeling of fear from when he thought Harry was missing, and the vast space and implied freedom of the sea feels like it’s almost mocking him. 

To make things even worse, Harry and the rest of the crew seem to have become the very best of friends. Harry and Colin are suntanning side by side, while Bradley works around them, needling the two of them for being lazy, while effectively blocking any and all offers to help.

Even Niall joins in more often than not, and the sound of laughter coming from the foredeck at regular intervals makes something ugly twist in Louis’ gut. 

No matter. It’s not like Louis is actually here for a holiday.

“Colin, come on!” he hears Harry’s voice call out as he moves their way to secure the fenders. “You can’t start telling a story like that and not finish it!”

“‘Course I can,” Colin replies. “Consider it your punishment for holding on to that jack of spades last night.”

“I’m being punished for the one hand I won?” Harry laughs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I lost about three grand last night—” 

“Closer to four,” Bradley interjects. “Five if you count the drinks. And I told you to fold, Colin.”

“If I listened to everything you told me, I’d probably have died long ago. You used to tell me I was useless at everything.”

“You’re right; I was wrong about that. You’re just useless at most things.”

“Is that so?” Colin says, putting his arms behind his head and smirking up at Bradley. “Then I guess you won’t come running to me next time you fall off a cliff. Or almost drown. Or get stabbed in the back.”

“Stabbed in the back?” Harry says, looking shocked. 

“Not literally,” Bradley says, throwing Colin a look that’s part exasperation, part fondness. “Colin is a bit dramatic.”

“Says the man who threw a fit because I insulted your hair that one time.”

“You insulted my entire person. You just focused on the hair.”

“Wasn’t wrong, though,” Colin says smugly. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I was nothing before I met you.” 

“Stop sweet-talking, you two,” Niall says, coming over to tug at a halyard. “It’s ridiculous. I’m embarrassed to be related to you, Colin.”

Harry sits up, looking from Niall to Bradley to Louis. “Wait, who’s steering?” 

Niall makes a horrified face. “No one’s steering? Oh lord! We’re all going to die!” 

“There’s an autosteer function,” Louis cuts in shortly. Bradley and Colin both look at him as though they’ve forgotten he’s on board, which makes him even more annoyed. “It can hold the course in good weather. Won’t work as well in a gale, of course.” 

“A gale? What are the chances of that?” Harry asks. 

“Right now?” Louis asks sardonically, pointing up at the clear sky. “Low.” 

“Anyway,” Niall says, throwing Louis a look, “I wanted to tell you we’ll be reaching our night stop in about half an hour. Bradley, can you prepare the anchor? And then be ready to take down the sails on my say. We’ll want to take them down quickly, so if you and Colin handle the mainsail, maybe Louis can handle the mizzen simultaneously? Can you take care of it on your own, Louis?”

Louis shrugs irritably. “Sure.”

“I can help, though,” Harry interjects. “That’ll be easier, right?”

“Whatever you want,” Louis repeats shortly, clenching his teeth together. “Come on, I need to show you how it works.”

Harry’s quiet as Louis leads the way to the mizzenmast and starts uncoiling lines. 

“So what we’ll need to do is collect the sail as it comes down. You take care of that—just keep it under control—and then we can furl the sail properly together. When Niall gives the word, we’ll start by sheeting the sail—”

“I remember,” Harry says gently. “I helped with the mainsail yesterday. And Colin’s been talking to me about a lot of things.”

“I’m not sure you should be listening too much to Colin,” Louis says, smiling despite himself, then looking away again. Every time he looks at Harry right now he gets a flash of this morning’s panic—and in addition to that, the memories of last night have been making ugly reappearances. 

“I don’t think I’ve said I’m sorry yet,” Harry says, and Louis tenses up. “I guess—I’ve been trying to figure out how.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Louis says automatically. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”

Harry sighs, leaning back against the railing. “It’s really not though. I didn’t realise how terrible it must have been for you when I didn’t come back last night. I mean, I’d find that terrifying enough, but for you…” He looks at Louis, frowning slightly. “I can’t imagine things would be easy for you, if something happened to me while I was here.”

Well, as an understatement, Louis feels that one has to be in the top ten of all time. He shrugs noncommittally. 

“And, I, uh—” Harry clears his throat and looks away, staring out across the ocean. “I’m even more sorry about—about everything I said last night. It’s—yeah, it took me a while to realise what a plonker I’d been. I’m not used to feeling like the villain, I guess. And I really didn’t like being lumped in with Gildemeister and her ilk. It didn’t feel fair.”

Louis clenches his jaw. Fantastic. So he’s going to be treated to the “I’m not like other patrons” speech, then. 

“So it took some time for me to realise that it is. Fair, I mean. It may not have been my intention, but the situation is what it is.”

Well, that turned in a different direction than he was expecting. Louis looks at Harry, surprised. 

“It wasn’t a fun realisation,” Harry says, worrying at the hem of his shirt. “It was even less fun realising what a complete ass I’d been. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. Just storming out in a tantrum, instead of actually listening… I’d like to think I’m not usually so childish. I’m really sorry.”

Louis gapes for several unattractive seconds. “Thanks,” he says finally, inadequately.

“I promise I don’t expect anything from you,” Harry says, if possible looking even more awkward. “Really. I mean that. I don’t want—well, I mean, not that I _don’t_ —gah, this is really weird to talk about like this…” He waves his hands vaguely in Louis’s general direction. “I mean, of course you know I find you very attractive—and—seriously, could you please just interrupt me at some point?”

Louis grins, surprising himself. 

“Why on earth would I do that?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “This is the most fun I’ve had all day.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Also doing wonders for my self esteem.”

“Prat.” Harry grins back at him. He grabs a halyard in what Louis can only assume is an attempt to look casual, then winces and lets go quickly. 

“Something wrong?” Louis asks, stepping up to him and taking Harry’s hand in his own, turning it over to check for injuries. Harry laughs shortly. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just a blister from yesterday. These ropes really dig into your hands. I don’t know how you guys manage it.”

“Willpower,” Louis responds, deadpan. “And, you know, years of calluses. But it’s fine. I think I have a pair of gloves somewhere we can put on these little lily-white paws of yours.” 

Harry rolls his eyes at him. “You’re hilarious.”

“And you haven’t even seen my stand-up routine yet.”

They’re standing right in front of each other, grinning at each other like idiots, and Louis is startled by how comfortable it feels. 

Before he has a chance to twist his head around this new tidbit of information, Niall pops his head around the edge of the sail. 

“Have you shown Harry how to handle the sheets?” he asks, then does a double take and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Louis realises he’s still holding Harry’s hand in his. 

“Yeah, sure, we should repeat that for good measure,” he says, taking a quick step backward. “Come on, Harry, we’ll have a better view from the stern.”

* * *

They anchor in a small bay, a nearly perfect half circle with a beach of white, clean sand. It’s almost ridiculously beautiful, but there isn’t a trace of humans to be found, and Louis wonders how this place has managed to avoid the Capitol’s raging appetite for everything pretty. 

“That reef we sailed past,” Niall informs him. “Too tricky to navigate for leisure cruises. So it’s a bit of a hidden gem, this, really.”

After anchoring and making sure the ship safe for the night, they load the _Ainsley’s_ skiff with supplies and set off for the beach, Bradley and Louis taking turns at the oars—”because,” as Bradley tells Colin, “we want to get there sometime today.”

“Just wanted to offer my services,” Colin says, but doesn’t look entirely displeased to stretch out in the skiff, trailing one hand in the clear water and occasionally poking Bradley with his foot. 

“Thanks. If we want to spin in circles for a while and admire the scenery, we know who to ask.”

Harry laughs, Louis tamps down on a smile of his own and Niall rolls his eyes. 

“Ignore them,” he says. “I’ve found that if you stop giving them attention, they’ll eventually stop on their own.” 

The sandy beach, once they arrive on shore, is warm under Louis’s bare feet. The water is turquoise and perfectly still, the air is full of the smell of grass and salt, and apart from Niall’s brief tirade about Colin’s knot-tying skills, it’s completely silent. Louis takes a deep, long breath. 

Harry steps up to his side. 

“I think I could stay here forever,” he says quietly, and Louis just nods.

* * *

The weather’s stable enough that they’ve decided to forego tents, and Niall’s laid out sleeping bags around the campfire that Colin has somewhat miraculously managed to get going in some rather damp driftwood. For some reason, Niall’s placed Harry next to himself, and while Louis appreciates the fact that Niall is most likely just trying to help out and make sure that Louis isn’t stuck with his client 24/7, after last night, and the way Harry’s spent most of the day with the crew, it feels a bit like... overkill; Louis can’t quite put his finger on the weird little twisted feeling in his gut.

“So you seem to have got over your hate for all things Capitol?” Louis asks Niall quietly, as they’re preparing dinner. “Someone buys you a few drinks and you forget all about centuries of oppression?”

For a split second, he could swear that there’s a flash of guilt on Niall’s face, before he rolls his eyes and gives Louis a friendly jab in the side, moving past him to check on the fire.

“Just trying to be a good friend,” he says, grinning back at Louis. “Thought you’d appreciate some space, since you’re stuck with him in such close quarters and all. And you know, Harry’s kind of cool. For a Capitolite. What’s the matter? Worried you’ll be booted off the Best Friend list?”

“Like you’d ever replace me,” Louis scoffs. “You’d be lost without me, Horan, and you know it. None of the other victors would let you drink for free on their tab the way I do.”

“I don’t know, Finnick might,” Niall replies. “I’d just have to find a way to properly meet him and charm my way in. You know, old Mags might as well. I think we’re related through my aunt’s sister-in-law’s third cousin or some such.” 

Louis laughs. “Careful there, all this hanging around Harry and talking about charming Finnick, I’ll start thinking you’re switching teams,” he teases. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you. Finnick’s, well… Finnick, and Harry does have that pretty, curly hair…” 

Niall gives him a searching look, and then positively launches himself into Louis’ arms, putting a hand to his forehead and pretending to swoon.

“Oh, Louis, you figured it out!” he exclaims, heaving a sigh for good measure. “It’s boys all the way for me now. Yes, it happened quite suddenly. I was turned by the smile of a Capitolite boy… He stepped unto my ship, he stole my heart… His eyes were the green of a calm lagoon…” 

Since his tone has now shifted into the tones of a classical Horan shanty, Louis just drops him unceremoniously into the sand and moves away quickly before he encourages a full performance.

* * *

It turns into a rather jolly evening. The dinner passes muster, especially with Harry—who manages to thoroughly overpraise a very simple meal—and someone apparently made sure that rum was included in the night’s supplies. Louis suspects Colin, although no one’s owning up to it. Niall fetches his guitar from the _Ainsley_ and engages them all in several more shanties, which grow dirtier and dirtier as the evening wears on.

“Oh! Do the one with the fish!” Colin exclaims from his spot half-way in Bradley’s lap. “With the kinky spear thingy.”

“The what, now?”

“You know,” Colin says, waving his hands about haphazardly, “the one with the spear that flies into the cove and the rock that spits foam and stuff. The one you sang that—um. You know, that other time. Who wants more rum?”

There’s general groaning interspersed with giggles from the rest of them. Louis frowns at the bottle in Colin’s hand, which is still half-full, even though Louis could swear that they’ve all had more than a quarter of a bottle each by now. Strange. 

“Here you go, love,” Colin says, nudging Bradley with the rum bottle. “Come on. You’re all drinking like wussies.” 

Bradley winces. “It’s really not fair of you to keep pushing alcohol on people when you’re the only one here who doesn’t get hungover,” he points out, but he takes a swig anyway before passing the bottle back. 

“Come on; this is basically a picker-upper. Besides,” Colin adds, “don’t you know that you’re in the presence of a heavy-drinking champion? Niall here can barely get drunk at all!”

Niall groans, putting his hands over his face. 

“I’m going to be eating those words for the rest of my life,” he mumbles. 

“You’re right, I did hear something about that,” Bradley says. “One or two or seven times.”

“To be fair, one of those times was from underneath a table,” Harry interjects, and Colin and Bradley both laugh. 

Louis feels a sting of that morning’s jealousy again, but then Harry throws him a glance and then clears his throat. 

“So, Colin, you and Niall are family, right? Have you known each other long?”

“Never even met until two weeks ago,” Colin says cheerfully. 

“Well, the family’s spread a bit thin, you could say,” Niall explains. “I haven’t met most of my Northern relatives. But Colin needed work and my family always takes care of their own.”

“And once we met we got on like a coal mine on fire,” Colin says, giggling a little and then taking another deep drink from the bottle of rum. “In a good way. It’s like my friend Gwen always says, you can’t—”

“More rum!” Niall exclaims, accidentally shoving Colin as he makes grabs for it. Colin goes down into the sand, frantically grappling for purchase and managing to pull Bradley down with him. There’s some frantic whispering and then giggles, followed by undeniable sounds of kissing. Very dirty kissing.

Louis turns in their direction and opens his mouth, intending to tell Colin and Bradley to get a fucking room, and finds Harry looking straight at him. Harry’s lips are wet and slightly parted, as though he was just biting them, and there’s a flush in his cheeks, which deepens when Louis meets his eye. Louis swallows, feeling suddenly on edge, a buzzing feeling simmering deep in his blood. Harry’s eyes are nearly all pupil, which Louis would love to blame on the darkness, but he _knows_ the look in Harry’s eyes. Has seen it on dozens of faces in the past year.

It’s never made his pulse quicken before. Not in a good way.

He breaks the connection, turning his head towards the ocean instead, drawing in air in slow, even breaths. Behind his back, he hears Niall ask Harry to come over and sit by him instead, starting to tell a story about some relative on the island they’re heading towards.

Louis loves his best friend.

* * *

Colin and Bradley have fallen asleep, stretched out beside each other with Colin’s head on Bradley’s shoulder. It’s rather sweet, really—the two of them switch seamlessly between bickering and needling each other to these kinds of unabashed displays of affection. Louis feels a fleeting sting of jealousy. For himself, he knows he’ll never be able to afford that kind of open love. What happened to Finnick and Annie these Games has proven that beyond a doubt. 

Niall has stopped talking as well, and judging from the heavy breathing and snores coming from his sleeping bag, he’s fast asleep as well. 

Louis lies quite still, looking up at the sky above. It’s entirely free from clouds, and with the fire dying beside him, the stars above only shine brighter and brighter. 

He hears Harry move about over at the opposite side of the fire, and is startled when a mat and sleeping bag is suddenly dropped to the ground right beside him, Harry climbing into it and stretching out on his back, next to Louis. 

“Hey. You awake?”

For a moment, Louis considers not answering; the night is so peaceful without words rupturing the silence. Still, in a way it’s kind of lonely, too—especially with Colin and Bradley in happy harmony only feet away—so after a brief pause, he hums in reply. 

“Niall was snoring in my ear,” Harry says. “Couldn’t sleep. Mind if I stay over here?”

Louis should mind. Should mind a lot. Because Harry is a patron, and Louis is a victor trapped on Snow’s twisted circuit until the Capitol loses interest. And Louis really, really needs to remember that that’s all they are and can be.

Harry is looking at him with a searching look in his eyes, as though he’s waiting for Louis’ answer. Like it would actually matter to him what that answer was. Louis feels himself shift slightly to the side without thinking, giving Harry a bit more room.

Harry’s answering smile is radiant; Louis is in so much trouble.

“Do you have names for the stars?” Harry asks. 

“The individual ones?” Louis asks, chomping down on the confusing heat that keeps simmering inside him and making sure that his voice comes out sounding ironic and detached, rather than teasing.

Harry huffs out a quiet laugh. “I was thinking the constellations. I know there used to be names for dozens and dozens of constellations, long ago. That they were used for navigation and telling the time of year and even religion. We aren’t taught any names back home, but I heard that the districts have lots of names of their own. Is that true?”

“Well, we have some.” Louis shifts so that he’s lying squarely on his back and points upwards. “The Compass. The Mainsail. The Eel—that one is called The Snake in District Eleven, I think.”

“And can you find your way with them?”

“Nah. Mostly it’s just something elders point out during late nights. Of course, every kid learns some basics. How to find the North Star, stuff like that. We use electronic aids in navigation, mostly, but it’s good to have some classical ways tucked up your sleeves. We’re not District Twelve, of course, so our electricity is pretty reliable, but it still goes on the fritz sometimes. During storms or if the—um, yeah, anyway. It happens sometimes.”

“If the Capitol shorts your power?” Harry asks, and Louis swears inwardly. He really needs to be more careful. “Do you mean on purpose?”

“No, that’s all crazy conspiracy theories,” Louis says lightly, grinning to play it off. “How we tend to get power loss when we fail quotas, things like that. Which is just coincidence, of course. No one in District Four actually believes that.”

He mentally kicks himself. There are some things you shouldn’t even hint at—things that will have repercussions for not only him and his family, but for the entire district. Shining light on the power plays the Capitol makes never ends well for anyone, as Haymitch Abernathy and several other victors can attest to all too well. Louis needs to get a grip.

He’s worried Harry will push the issue, but thankfully, after a long pause, all he says is, “OK, so how would I find the North Star?” 

Louis breathes a silent sigh of relief. “All right. Here.” He risks moving a bit closer, pushes their shoulders together and aligning his head close to Harry’s. “You start with the Mainsail. Up there. See it? Then you trace a straight line from this edge, and the first star after that—see the bright one?—that’s it.”

“And I would steer by that how?”

“As long as you’re heading towards it, you’re going North.”

“You mean I should point my ship to the sky.”

“It’s not right above you,” Louis says, making a show out of rolling his eyes. “I’ll show you when we’re on night watch together.”

“Sounds nice,” Harry says, and with just those words and Harry’s eyes on his, the mood shifts again into something thicker, more electric.

Louis definitely needs to get a grip.

“You know, being out here, with just the sea and the stars—it’s amazing,” Harry says. “Back home, everything has a million layers. Like a tulle ball gown. It’s all complex and constructed, and that can be gorgeous too, but out here, it’s just—it’s simpler, understated. Like the really fine silk you get from District Eight—the raw material, before it goes to One to be painted and embroidered with crystals—that just runs over your body like water. That’s a bit like how it feels out here.”

It’s such a ridiculous story, and one that illustrates just how far removed from reality Harry is, and always will be. Still, Louis finds the corners of his mouth turn into a smile, despite himself.

“I take it you’re planning a career in the fashion industry,” he says. “Only people who actually work on putting clothes together know what district does what with the materials.”

“That’s probably true.”

“So what’s the plan?” Louis asks. “Will you be the next big stylist?” The word alone leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, memories of people fluttering around him, dressing him up in glittering mesh and ooohing and aaahing about his eye colour surging up before he can stop them. 

“Not stylist,” Harry says, conviction clear in his voice. “I don’t want to work with the games, not if I can help it. But yes, I am interning at a fashion house right now, and I hope to have my own label one day. And if I manage to be successful with that, then the stylists from District One and Two will probably want to buy my designs for their tributes, so...”

“No choice in that, huh.”

“A lot of things run on strict rules,” Harry says vaguely. “Hierarchies. Alliances set in motion before I or even my mum was born. Making a career is a job of learning to navigate them. But there are some things you can’t really change.”

Truer words never spoken. Louis turns his eyes back to the sky, trying to ignore the warmth seeping into his side from Harry’s body, and tells himself he’ll be less stupid from now on.

* * *

They set sail for the place Niall has in mind, Hopclover Island, the next day. The sky is still clear and the sun shines down brightly, and it doesn’t take long until they’re all pushing sweaty hair out of their face. 

“How do you stand this heat?” Harry asks, pulling his shirt over his head and then, to Louis’s mild horror, wiping his face with it. The material alone is probably worth as much as the house of whomever wove it. “The sun is positively baking; I’m about to melt!”

“I’m with you,” Colin says, wiping an arm across his forehead. “It’s something about how the sun gets thrown back from the waves. It gets a lot hotter than it does inland.”

“But you’re at least used to long days on the sea,” Harry points out. 

Colin looks flustered for a moment, then laughs. “You obviously haven’t been up North,” he says lightly. “We don’t get sun like this!”

“Hey, you guys,” Niall calls, coming towards them and interrupting the discussion, “how would you feel about a dip?” 

Harry looks intrigued. “Should we drop anchor? I’d love that—I never had time to see how the mechanism worked last night.”

Niall laughs. “No, it’s far too deep to anchor out here,” he says. “And I wasn’t planning on stopping. But we’re holding a steady course and not going too fast. You could probably keep up.”

“OK, you’re seriously overestimating my swimming capabilities,” Harry says dryly. “I know you guys learn to swim before you can walk, but…” He seems to catch the expression on everyone’s faces. “Oh, you weren’t serious.”

“I’m very flattered you think we could all keep pace with a ship doing five knots,” Louis says, grinning. 

“It’s these guns,” Colin adds, flexing his rather skinny arms. “But I’m not quite as strong as they would have you believe, sadly.”

“I’ve thrown out a couple of lines,” Niall explains. “You can hold on to those. I want to make use of this wind while we have it, so we don’t really have time to stop for a proper swim, but you can at least cool off.”

“Really?” Harry asks, face lighting up before suspicion creeps back in. “You’re not pulling my leg again, are you?”

“Not this time,” Bradley says with a smirk, giving Harry a clap on the back before turning and sprinting down the deck. “Last one in is a flounder!”

Louis watches Niall and Colin run after him, elbowing each other to get ahead. Harry gets to his feet and, instead of following the others, walks up to Louis and looks at him expectantly.

“Did you want something, Harold?” Louis asks, mentally hitting himself over how light and teasing it comes out.

“I need my bathing suit.”

“Oh? Let me guess, you want me to go get it for you?”

“Well, I would go myself,” Harry replies with a smile. “But, sadly, I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t,” Louis says. “Proper word use, Harry. It’s important.”

“No,” Harry says, moving a step closer and placing a hand against the ship, right next to Louis’ head. “I literally can’t. You’re blocking the door.”

Louis startles and quickly turns his head. Seems that he is, in fact, standing right in front of the door leading down to the cabins. Oops.

“My mistake,” he says, opening the door with an exaggerated flourish. “There you go. The staircase is all yours.”

Harry laughs, and steps around Louis towards the ladder. Then he turns back towards him, and his hand moves towards Louis’ arm, before he seems to catch himself, hesitates and pulls it back. Harry ducks his head, and Louis is, suddenly, far too aware of how close they’re standing. The movement of the ship makes it feel as though they’re swaying together, and Louis realises with dismay that he’s just moving with it, rather than keeping himself alert, trying to anticipate what Harry might want from him next. He swallows hard, then takes a deep breath, trying to refocus. 

“Sorry, I—” Harry says, and then takes a step back and flashes Louis a quick smile. “I’ll go get my things. Do you need me to bring you anything?” 

“Uh—no, I’m fine,” Louis replies. “Got my swimmers on under my clothes already. Force of habit.”

“Oh,” Harry says, still lingering. “I’ll see you in a bit, then?”

“See you in a bit,” Louis parrots back, watching Harry as he climbs down the stairs, and then gives himself a good, firm shake and goes to check on the bathing lines.

* * *

It turns out to be a rather uneventful first night of shift sailing. Louis pulls a shift from ten o’clock until four in the morning, joined first by Niall and Colin and then by Bradley from midnight onward. There is little wind and the course is steady, so they while away the hours by talking about how Bradley’s finding himself in his new home. A few times, Bradley tries to turn the conversation back to Louis and the life of a victor, but Louis manages to deflect away from the topic. He’s really not interested in fuelling Bradley’s creepy victor crush on Morgana, thanks.

At four o’clock, Louis stumbles below deck and prods Harry awake for his shift as politely as possible. He’s somewhat worried that Harry will spend a half hour picking out clothes before surrendering the cabin, but to his relief, Harry simply pulls on the same clothes from the night before, only stopping briefly to dig out an artfully unravelled sweater from one of his larger bags. It’s very Capitol-typical—that kind of faux threadbare that only very rich people could even begin to find desirable—but Louis doesn’t have the energy to snark about it. 

As Harry leaves the cabin, thoughtfully extinguishing the light as he exits, Louis lets his head fall onto the pillow and is asleep within seconds.

* * *

The weather turns during the early hours of the morning. 

When Louis wakes for his morning shift, the sea is steel grey and the sky overhead is dark with clouds. The wind has picked up, throwing sharp bursts of salt spray into his face as he struggles onto the bridge. 

“What are the odds this is a passing thing?” he says, but Niall only sighs. 

“You remember how before this trip started, you asked me to get your Capitolite sea sick?” he says, then nods towards where Harry’s hanging miserably over the railing, his hair plastered to his face. “You’re welcome.”

Louis winces. He’s rarely been sea sick himself, but one memorable journey as the mast monkey on a very tall ship is enough to make him sympathetic to Harry’s plight.

“Should we reef the mainsail?”

“It’s still picking up, so yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Niall says, staring darkly at the sky. “I’m actually not sure we should have it up at all. Still, we can’t go by engine all the way. Worst case, we’ll have to try sailing only on the jibs and the mizzen. Might take a bit longer.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

Niall grins at that. “Things aren’t that bad. Don’t tell me you’ve turned chicken.”

Louis glares at him, and Niall laughs. 

“How about you go peel Harry off the railing and tuck him down somewhere. He’s not doing any good as it is anyway. You can get to the sail after that.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, and stumbles across the deck to Harry. The _Ainsley_ is really rolling with the waves now, and it’s easy to see that for a Capitolite who’s hardly had time to get his sea legs, this must be a bit of a nightmare. 

“Come on,” he says. “You’ll feel better if you lie down. You need to be dry and warm, too. If you stand here, you’ll just be soaked to the skin.”

“I really don’t want to go below deck,” Harry protests faintly. 

“I figured as much. Don’t worry; come with me.” Louis hauls one of Harry’s arms over his shoulders and starts half dragging, half leading him down the deck to a somewhat sheltered spot on the leeward side. “Lie down here for a while. I’ll be right back.”

Harry just groans unhappily, so Louis deposits him as gently as he can and hurries below deck to gather what he needs. When he arrives back up, Harry’s curled up in a ball, eyes shut and his lips a shade of bluish purple. He’s pulled off his stylishly ragged sweater and balled it up to use as a pillow, and the bright yellow of the shirt he was wearing beneath stands out garishly against his pale skin. 

“OK, I know this isn’t exactly a Belmond suite,” Louis says, trying for lighthearted, “but I promise you’ll feel better once you get warmer. Here.” He unfolds the blanket he’s brought and tucks it around Harry, then adds an oilskin cover over that. Finally he smooths Harry’s sweaty hair back from his forehead and pushes a knitted cap over his head. 

“Not the fashionable apparel you’re used to, I’m afraid,” he says. “But it’s good wool, naturally impregnated.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, in a very small and unhappy voice. “I think I’m just going to lie here for a while.”

“That’s exactly what the healer ordered,” Louis says. “Well, not healer, per se. Just me, in fact. Here; you should also try to eat these.” He pushes a few crackers into Harry’s hand.

“I don’t feel like eating...”

“I know you don’t. But you’ll feel better if you do. They’re easy to swallow and they’re salty, which’ll be good for you. And it’s good to focus on doing something, too. Just eat tiny pieces and chew them slowly. It’ll get your stomach working again.”

“Thank you,” Harry says again, then huffs out a short, dejected laugh. “I didn’t turn out to be much of a sailor, did I?”

“Oh, come on,” Louis says dismissively. “It happens to the best of us. Everyone on board this boat has been seasick once in a while. Oh, case in point, here comes Colin.”

Colin lurches up on deck, looking absolutely awful, and heads towards the opposite railing. 

“Colin, wait,” Louis says quickly, “if you’re feeling bad you should head for the leeward—OK, never mind. I’m sure that’ll wash out eventually.” 

“Louis!” Niall yells from the bridge, causing Louis to regretfully turn away from the show. “Mainsail! Now!”

To Louis’s relief, Bradley, who’s obviously some sort of superhuman, is still awake and able to help Louis with the reefing. The weather is turning worse by the second, but thankfully, there’s no rain as of yet. 

“You really need to get your head down,” Louis pants, once they’ve set the mainsail again and are working on the jibs. “Have you slept at all?”

“About two hours, after Niall came on at six,” Bradley says. “But it’s fine. I’m used to going without a lot of sleep.”

“Still,” Louis insists. “The risk for mistakes goes up with sleep deprivation. And we really can’t afford to lose you right now, not with both Colin and Harry out of commission.”

“Colin will be fine,” Bradley says. “He just needs some time to, uh, find his bearings. He usually comes out on top in any situation.”

“Too much information, mate,” Louis says, flashing a quick grin, and Bradley laughs. 

“OK, I’ll kip down for a bit, then. Wake me if you need help.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard on us,” Louis says. “We have a steady course for now. Should just be a matter of adjusting the sheets now and then.”

He’s proven wrong within two hours.

* * *

It starts with the reefing line breaking. At first, Louis doesn’t realise what’s going on; he just hears the sound of a beating sail and even as he looks up, it takes him a few moments to realise what has gone wrong. With the reefing undone, the sail is filling up with too much wind and without control. 

Thankfully, in the time it takes Louis to realise the problem, Colin—who seems to have made a remarkable recovery—is already at the peak halyard and ready to work. Together they manage to take the sail down and redo the reefing line—all the while stepping around Harry, who’s trying to miserably scooch out of the way but still, somehow, always managing to be in the wrong spot. 

When they set the mainsail again, it doesn’t take long to realise that the way it was beating before, the sail’s been torn in several places. 

They set about furling the sail again, but the wind has really picked up by now and several times the sail catches the wind, tearing itself out of Louis’s and Colin’s arms. Niall is still at the helm, trying to keep the course steady through the gale, and after the sail has blown out of Louis’s arms for the sixth time, he really feels like giving up. At that point, Bradley reemerges from below deck again, and for the first time, Louis gets a sense of how true his and Colin’s partnership is. They seem to communicate mostly by glances and pointing and definitely without using any nautical terms at all, but somehow, between the two of them, they get the mainsail furled and under control. 

Of course, it’s really the _Ainsley’s_ particular kind of luck that one of the tackles on the inner jib breaks just as they’re finishing up. 

Colin and Bradley rush to get the jib under control as Louis tightens a last line of the mainsail, and at that point Louis sees Harry stagger to his feet and lurch towards the railing. He feels a surge of pity. Harry really tries, and it’s kind of endearing to see how he picks everything up so quickly—he’s moving towards the leeward railing, having learned earlier from Colin what happens when you throw up in the windward direction. 

“Louis!” Bradley yells. “We could use a hand, here!”

Louis moves quickly to join him and Colin, and together, they manage to gain control over the rogue jib and furl it haphazardly. It feels like everything on board is falling apart, and Louis thinks fleetingly that now might actually be a good time to try going by engine for bit instead. The wind’s grown much stronger than they expected, and he fears that they might actually have a serious accident if they’re not careful. 

As that thought crosses his mind, he looks around for Harry and finds the deck completely empty. He cranes his neck, trying to see if Harry’s just hidden behind a corner or something, and as he does so, he catches sight of something in the waves on the _Ainsley’s_ leeward side. 

In the churning, dark water, there’s a flash of bright yellow, and Louis’ blood runs cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> And come say hi on [tumblr](actuallyredorchid.tumblr.com), for anyone who wants to talk about anything relating to fic, HG, 1D or Niall in a captain's uniform. Fandom flailing! Whoot! :D


	5. Chapter Five

“MAN OVERBOARD!”

Louis drops the line he was coiling, running to the railing to stare out into the ocean. The speck of yellow he saw is gone, but he points to where he saw it, holding his arm steady in the approximate direction. 

Bradley rushes up to him. “Do you have eyes on him?” 

Louis makes a slightly despairing noise. “I saw him over there, but I can’t find him now. Niall! _Man overboard_!” 

“If you can get eyes on him, tell Colin,” Bradley says earnestly, as Colin himself joins them, sweeping his head from side to side. He’s mumbling under his breath, leaning much too far out over the railing, and Bradley grabs him by the back of his shirt. 

“Sure, fine.” Louis’s heart is hammering with panic. “Here, actually, you two take over watch. I need to talk to Niall.” 

He aligns Bradley’s arm with his, making sure they’re pointing in the right direction, then rushes to the helm. Niall is swearing under his breath, squinting into the wind. 

“What are you doing?” Louis demands. “You need to turn full, now!”

“He’s already out of sight,” Niall says. “And we can’t do a quick turn in this weather anyway.”

“We have to go back for him!” Louis shouts, grabbing for the wheel, and Niall shoves him away, hard. 

“I know,” he says tightly. “And that’s why I’m prepping for a Williamson turn, to bring us straight on to him. Be ready with the engine, we’ll need to assist the turn. And tell Bradley and Colin to handle the sails. _Go_ , Louis!”

Louis is almost at the engine hatch when there’s a noise from below and then the hatch opens. 

“Has something happened?” Harry asks, poking a disheveled head out of the engine room. “I heard shouting.”

Louis can’t help himself. He practically tackles Harry as he climbs out of the hatch, causing both of them to hit the deck painfully. Louis doesn’t care. Harry’s solid beneath him, warm and alive, and Louis clings pathetically, pure relief surging through him. Harry’s fine. He’s just fine.

Harry hugs him back, if a bit awkwardly, clearly confused about this sudden turn of events. Louis takes a couple of deep breaths and starts to pull himself together, wracking his brain for an excuse.

Before he has time to think of anything, there’s a loud, rushing sound and everything around them explodes with light.

“What the—”

Louis whips around and almost falls over with shock. Over by the leeward railing, Colin is standing with both arms raised towards the sky, pulses of light emanating from his hands, which look like they are literally trying to _push_ the storm away from the ship.

“Can you see him?” Louis hears him call out to Bradley, who is still pointing out in the direction Louis showed him.

“Go further!” Bradley calls back. “He might have gone under, can you feel him out?”

“Too many fish! I think there must be a shoal of some kind nearby. The whole bloody sea registers as alive!”

“Niall, why is the turn taking so long?” Bradley calls out, louder. “We need to—” He turns his head towards the helm, and Louis sees the moment he registers the fact that Harry—rich, powerful, _Capitolite_ Harry—is a) not actually in the water, and b) watching Bradley’s partner do magic right in front of his eyes.

Because that’s what it has to be, Louis’ stunned brain realises. Magic, which was purged from Panem after the rebellion, the Capitol hunting down and executing anyone in the districts with so much as a spark, with thousands of innocents getting caught in the crossfire. Louis has heard rumours of course, same as everyone else, about strange things happening at sea, sometimes. A net miraculously holding, or a ship coming back to port after a storm with damages that should have sunk it. But that’s all it’s been—rumours; whispered between people like secrets, and always with a possible scientific explanation attached.

Over by the leeward side, Bradley says something into Colin’s ear, and Colin spins around as well, arms falling guiltily to his sides. The light that surrounded the ship vanishes, and the storm is back in full force, the ship rolling with the waves as the wind pulls at them. For several long moments, all five of them just stand there, frozen, looking at each other.

Then a large wave breaks against the ship, and Niall launches back into action.

“Harry! Get below deck! Louis, get the engine running, we need to move out from under this storm! Colin, Bradley! Sails, now!”

Harry is the first to comply, and Louis immediately moves to follow him, because _shit_ , what if Harry tells someone? What if—

Colin and Bradley seem to be having the same idea, both of them starting to sprint towards the ladder leading below deck. Niall stops them by grabbing the ship’s bell and tolling it wildly, making all of them clap their hands over their ears.

“Explanations later! Just get the fucking sails! And Louis, get down the bloody engine room before I throw you down there myself!” 

Gritting his teeth, Louis does as told, climbing down the hatch faster than he ever has in his life, moving through the small, warm space of the engine room on auto pilot. When ducking under a pipe, he gets a faceful of something wet and soft: Harry’s impractical threadbare jumper, which must have been why he was down in the engine room in the first place, Louis realises—to hang it up to dry.

He gets the engine running and double checks the oil levels, and then moves up to the deck again. Niall is still at the helm, keeping the _Ainsley_ on course, and the sails seem to have been properly secured, at last. Colin and Bradley, however, are nowhere to be seen.

_Neither is Harry._

“Louis, wait!” Niall shouts, as Louis starts moving towards the door leading below deck. “Louis, come back! You’ll crash into the—”

Louis feels the force field right before he makes contact with the door handle; it doesn’t stop him from running head-first into it and getting quite a nasty shock, unfortunately.

He picks himself off the ground, reaching out tentatively. His fingers make contact again, and he feels the resulting current all the way up his arm.

_Fuck._

“Niall, help me!”

“Give me a fucking second, the autosteer function is not kicking in—”

“We have to get in there!” 

Louis looks around wildly, grabbing a deck brush to try and poke the force field, but it just bounces away, stinging his hand. Niall comes running up to him, slipping across the wet deck, and grabs his shoulder. 

“You have to calm down,” he says. “Everything’s fine. Just take a deep breath.”

“Calm down? There’s a magic user down in the cabins, who’s sealed himself in with my—with the Capitolite I’m responsible for, Niall! An incredibly powerful magic user, from what I saw, who would get executed in a heartbeat if Harry as much as mentioned him when he got back home. But no, they’re _fine_. Fine inside a bloody force field! No way that scenario could _possibly_ go wrong!”

“They’re just going to explain a few things. Harry’s smart; nothing bad is going to happen to him.”

“Harry’s _smart_?” Louis nearly shouts. “That’s what you’re focusing on, in the middle of a storm, with a magic user prancing around the—fuck. You _knew_!”

“Yeah, I did,” Niall admits, having the grace at least to look supremely guilty. “But Louis, it’s really not a bad thing, Colin would never—”

“Would never what?” Louis throws back. “Put all of us in danger? Kidnap a Capitolite? Because, _funny fact_ , he done both those things in the last thirty minutes!”

“To save Harry’s _life_!”

“Oh, I’m sure Harry feels completely safe, right now!”

“I get that you’re scared, I—”

“I’m not scared!” Louis shouts. “I’m fucking furious! How could you not tell me?”

“Because not everything’s about you!” Niall snaps.

It’s like being slapped, and Louis almost reels back. They stare at each other for a few moments, until Niall winces and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Louis takes a deep breath. 

“You let me bring a Capitol guest on a tour with a _magic_ user,” he says tightly. “Did you ever reflect how enormously _dangerous_ that would be? For all of us? What do you think happens if this gets back to the president?”

Niall runs his hands over his face. “I thought we were going on an easy cruise along the seaboard. With a guest who wouldn’t even notice a pair of lowly deckhands. It wasn’t going to be an issue.”

“Well, now it is.”

“I know. And I’m _sorry_. But you’re really making it worse than it is.”

“Harry’s a Capitolite.”

“I _know_. But I don’t think he’ll rat Colin out. Call me idealistic.”

Louis glances towards the ladder, but the force field appears to be in place, still. Nothing to do but wait it out, apparently. 

“So did you know before Colin came here?” he asks. “Was that why he came down south? Was he in trouble back home because of the magic? Is he some kind of fugitive?”

Niall looks uncomfortable. “Not more than any magic user,” he says vaguely. “Look, OK, Colin is smart. He’s good at keeping it a secret.”

Louis stares at him, then gestures mutely towards the force field. 

“This was a special situation, and you know it,” Niall protests. “He only showed his magic because he was trying to _save_ Harry, remember? Anyway, that’s not why he came down here. He and Bradley really do need work. Simple as that.”

“No,” Louis says. “I don’t buy it. There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Niall scoffs. “Really? Well, that’d make two of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and Harry,” Niall says. “The talking, and the laughing and the way you’re looking at each other. I mean, I know he’s lovely—for a Capitolite—and he’s undeniably gorgeous, if you like the whole male thing. Which you do, so I don’t blame you for looking, but it’s putting the rest of us in a really weird spot, so you can’t really blame me for—”

“Yes, I can!” Louis exclaims. “There’s no _looking_ , Niall! It’s _acting_ , and I’m clearly bloody good at it, if you think I have some sort of feelings that… what? Cloud my judgement? Make me forget who exactly is in my bunk at night and how he got there? Give me some fucking credit.”

“So you’re not?” Niall presses. “Interested, I mean? No fluttery feelings at all?”

“No!”

“Because if there were, I’d understand,” Niall says. “I mean, it must be a nice change compared to—you know.”

“Don’t,” Louis says. “There are no feelings, all right? Can we just… drop this whole subject, please? 

“Sure,” Niall replies. “Dropped and forgotten. Look, the force field is coming down.”

“Fucking finally. Okay, look—this is clearly not a good time, yeah? Let’s get through this storm, and then we’ll sort out the rest. Sound good to you?”

“More than,” Niall replies, cracking a small smile. “Go take care of things.”

“Don’t run the ship aground.”

* * *

Louis finds Harry in their shared cabin, sitting on the edge of the double bunk, staring into the wall. Louis does a quick scan of both Harry and the room, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen a bit when he can’t detect any signs of a struggle. Harry has a blanket draped across his shoulders and a steaming mug in his hands. He looks like a drenched kitten; Louis can’t help a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

“You okay?”

“Oh, hi,” Harry says, clearly startled. “Yeah. Um. I’m fine, I think. Just—a lot to process.”

“I swear I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, they told me,” Harry replies, moving a bit to the side and gesturing for Louis to come take a seat. “That and—um—a lot of things. I’m not sure what I think about it all.”

“Please don’t report them,” Louis hears himself saying. Harry looks up at him, eyes wide, and Louis mentally kicks himself. So much for not showing his hand.

“I mean, I’m hoping we can find a solution that benefits all of us,” he tries, sitting down next to Harry on the bunk. “Niall can get hold of almost any product here in Four through his family network, and I’d be more than happy to—what the fuck are you drinking?”

“Oh, this?” Harry replies, holding out the mug for Louis to take a closer look. “Colin gave it to me. Old recipe to help with seasickness.”

“Old recipe?” Louis asks. “Did _Colin_ make it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I—” Harry stops and looks down into the mug, frowning briefly. “Ah.” 

“Are you out of your mind?” Louis snaps, grabbing the mug from him. “He just revealed himself to be a magician! That could be—” 

“Colin and Bradley both drank from it first,” Harry says. “I’m not a complete nitwit. And it actually works; I feel a hundred times better already.”

“Good,” Louis says. “Then you won’t mind me pouring this over the side of the boat.”

Harry smiles, startlingly pretty on his pale face. “I wasn’t sure you even liked me.”

“What makes you think I do?”

“Well, you seem opposed to me being poisoned, in any case.”

“I’m generally opposed to people being poisoned. I’m nice like that.”

Harry laughs shortly, then sniffs and makes a face. He takes a corner of his shirt between forefinger and thumb, giving it a disgusted look. “I smell terrible.”

Even with the last few hours taken into account, Harry smells better than most people Louis know. Sure, there’s a faint smell of sick clinging to him, but mostly, he just smells like sweat and sea water. And roses, for some inexplicable reason. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously,” Harry says, “I don’t think anyone has ever smelled this bad. Ever. In all of Panem.”

He’s clearly not letting this one go. Louis moves a little closer, and decides that the best way forward is making light of the situation to make Harry feel more at ease.

“I don’t know about that,” Louis replies. “I think babies are similar no matter whether they’re District or Capitol, and a filled diaper smells pretty rank.”

Harry laughs, startled. Louis grins back at him. 

“I’m just saying. Poop beats sick in terms of smelliness. I have four younger siblings, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh god, please stop talking. I’m going to be sick again.”

“Sorry. Here, lift your arms; getting that shirt away will help.”

Harry can’t seem to stop giggling, but he raises his arms without fuss to help Louis pull the wet and soiled shirt over his head. It gets stuck half way, and Harry giggles more. Louis tugs at the hem, trying to get the soaked material up past the shoulders for a while before finally having to give up.

“It’s form-fitting,” Harry says from behind a layer of fabric, arms still up above his head. “And it’s a linen-silk blend, so it doesn’t stretch much.”

“Too bad for you then,” Louis replies. “Seems you’ll have to keep being smelly, Curly. My apologies. I truly gave it my best.”

“Stop being an ass and find the buttons.”

Harry’s still snorting out laughter in a rather undignified way. It doesn’t help that he looks like a three-year-old trying to dress himself, either—Louis finds himself starting to laugh as he finally locates the buttons and starts peeling the shirt off. It brings back a momentary, awkward flash of that night during the Games, but then Harry gets free from the shirt and shakes his head violently, giving an impression rather of a wet dog than a lover. 

“I’m freezing,” he says pathetically. 

“Come on, let’s find you something warm,” Louis says, tossing the shirt away. He gestures vaguely towards the small tower of bags piled in one corner of the cabin. “Um, where should I start looking?”

“Oh,” Harry says, rubbing his hands over his arms. “Wait, let me think. There should be a cashmere jumper in one bag—the chequered one, I think? Or there’s a cardigan somewhere, too, but that only has one sleeve…”

“Never mind,” Louis says, laughing, and digs into his own bag. “Here. You’ll have to live with the way the yarn changes halfway through. And the gauge, too. And that one sleeve would only fit a giant. It was Lottie’s first attempt at knitting.”

Harry smiles softly, pulling on the jumper. It’s a hideous excuse for a garment, really, but Louis has always loved it—if only for the memory of Lottie trying (and failing) to hide the project from him for the month it took her to finish it. On Harry, it actually manages to look somewhat stylish, which is impressive. 

“Lottie?”

“Sister. Eldest of the bunch. Great sailor, terrible knitter.”

“Oh, I don’t know. She has a unique style.”

Louis snorts, then gestures vaguely upwards. “I need to go back up on deck. You all right down here for a while?”

Harry shrugs, but smiles. “I’ll be fine. Think I’ll probably just try to take a nap.”

He’s still pale, looking smaller somehow in the wonderfully mis-sized jumper, and Louis hesitates by the door to the cabin. Then the sound of a flapping sail accompanied by what could only be Colin squawking recalls him to mind, and he rolls his eyes quickly at Harry before hurrying up on deck.

* * *

The rest of the day is tense and uncomfortable.

With the rigging under control, it’s merely a job of trimming the sails for the course and keeping an eye on the barometer, as well as assessing the damage caused by the storm and making temporary repairs where possible. Ironically, what should make for an easy time makes everything more uncomfortable, with everyone tip-toeing around each other and making too-cheerful small talk.

Colin sets to making some sort of repair to the mainsail which, although it means they can actually start getting some mileage out of the _Ainsley_ again, makes Louis stare at Niall in disbelief. Normally, he’s a mother hen about the _Ainsley’s_ rigging. Allowing someone to use _magic_ on her? 

“It does the trick for now,” Niall tells him. “We’ll have to make proper repairs when we get to shore, but it’s fine for short distances.”

“You’re awfully comfortable with magic for someone who supposedly found out about it a few weeks ago,” Louis says, acutely aware of how cutting it comes out.

With the way Niall avoids his gaze, Louis suspects there’s even more to the story, and the mixed feelings of anger and helplessness dig themselves deeper into his gut.

_What the fuck has Niall got himself into?_

As the day draws to an end, the wind slackens. The sky starts to clear, the _Ainsley_ stops rolling and even Harry comes back up on deck, looking more like himself again. With the half-panic of the morning a little further away, the tension isn’t quite as bad any longer as Niall calls them to the helm for a meeting. 

“I’ve done some restructuring in the schedule,” he says. “Louis, your watch is the same as we discussed, and I’m taking the early part of the shift with you.”

“I thought I had that shift?” Bradley says. 

“Sure, but that was before you slept a total of three hours last night,” Niall says pointedly. “You’re taking a full night and coming on for the shift from eight onwards. If I see you on deck before that, I will smack you. Colin, I’ll also need you to take a long shift tonight. Harry, I’ve removed you from the roster. Thought you might want the night to rest up.”

“That’s fine, actually. I’m better now, and I want to do my part,” Harry says.

“Okay, then you’ll go on with Colin between—”

“Not a chance,” Louis cuts in, crossing his arms and turning towards Niall. “He takes the watch with me, not Colin.”

“That makes no sense,” Niall argues. “Putting Harry with you means unnecessary overlaps, while Colin still has to take a long shift. Better to put Harry with him from two onwards and shorten your shift so you can go back on with Bradley at eight.”

“No,” Louis replies. “Switch it around. Colin takes the shift with you until two, Harry and I will take over from then until Bradley comes on, and I’ll stay up with Bradley for the first hour of his shift after that.”

For a minute, Louis thinks Niall will actually fight him on it. Louis crosses his arms and tries his best to show that he’s not going to back down from this one.

After what feels like forever, Niall sighs, throwing up his hands. “OK, _fine_ , have it your way; I’m too fucking tired to deal with you right now. Everyone apart from me and Colin head down to sleep. We’ll wake you for your respective shifts.”

* * *

At ten to two, Louis is prodded awake none too gently by Niall, who looks a little bit like that storm they just sailed through. 

“Your watch,” he says grouchily. “And try not to have any accidents during the night. I think we’ve had quite enough drama for the time being.”

“Oh, sure. Clearly, I’m the one who’s been bringing drama on to this ship.”

Niall makes a face. “Come on, Louis. I just want things to be calm for, like, a few hours.”

“No drama,” Louis says. “Got it.” 

He knows he’s being snappish, but at the same time, Niall’s the one who’s apparently been hiding a magic relative for god knows how long. 

“Good,” Niall says, then glances pointedly at how Harry’s sprawled out close beside Louis, almost draped over him. Louis rolls his eyes. Really, it’s not that big of a bed. How is Niall expecting them to sleep?

Niall responds with an eye roll of his own. There’s clear tension in his face and body, as though he’s on the verge of saying something else, but is deciding against it. Louis raises an eyebrow in silent challenge, and the tension grows uncomfortably, until Niall sighs and turns away, leaving the cabin without another word.

Louis takes a deep, slow breath, willing the almost nauseous feeling in his gut to subside. If someone had told him that _Niall_ would one day make him uneasy and unsure of what to think, Louis would probably have laughed in their faces.

And yet, here they are.

He gives himself a little shake and turns to Harry, nudging him awake. “Come on, Curly, up and at ‘em.”

Harry groans, but rolls to a sitting position all the same. “Time’s it?”

“Time to be useful,” Louis replies. “Dress warmly, the temperature drops quite low during the night.”

He gets out of bed and pulls on clothes on autopilot. It isn’t until he’s up on deck and gets the first gust of wind to the face that he wakes up enough to realise that Harry has not only actually got out of bed and followed him to take his watch, but that he’s still wearing Lottie’s monstrosity of a jumper, complete with its giant, floppy sleeve and multiple conflicting colour schemes.

He looks positively endearing. Louis swiftly pushes that thought firmly down again.

“I’ll check the heading with Colin,” he says. “Can you tighten the sheet on the inner jib by yourself while I do that?”

Harry makes a rather sluggish attempt to flex his muscles. 

“Put me to work,” he says. “Anything else that needs to be done?”

Louis does a quick survey of the current rigging and tries to suppress a wince. “Well, half the sails are torn and we need repairs on just about everything within reach. But how about we just start with making sure she’s headed in the right direction, and we’ll see what can be done after that.”

“You’re the captain,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t let Niall hear you even joke about that.”

Harry grins at him, a definite glint of mischief in his eyes. “We could steal his hat. Can’t be a proper captain without one. And then have ourselves a mutiny and sail off with his ship.”

“Piracy, Harold?” Louis replies, unable to hold back a grin of his own. “How very non-proper for a high society Capitolite. I’m shocked. Truly.”

“Oh, come off it, I’m not all that proper” Harry laughs. “Case in point...” He motions for Louis to come closer, and then leans in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “I did commandeer this holiday, after all. I’ve practically started my career as a pirate already.”

Louis snorts and is just about to reply, when Colin calls out to them from the bridge, asking whether they’re planning on just standing around for much longer—effectively breaking the moment.

“Right,” Louis says, turning his attention to the task at hand. “Harry, inner jib, and then meet me at the helm. We have a few hours of work ahead of us.”

* * *

The wind has slackened to a soft breeze when the sun starts to rise, and Louis deems it safe enough to leave Harry alone at the helm for a while, for him to go down and fetch some early breakfast.

Harry’s eyes light up as Louis gets back and starts spreading out his findings: half a loaf of bread, some cheese, a bit of honey, some dry meat and salted nuts, and a bottle of hot sauce—a fare that would hardly be deemed fit for even a quick snack in the Capitol, but which always makes Louis feel at home.

They eat in silence, to start with, stretching out on the deck side by side. As the sun rises, the temperature starts climbing as well, and it’s not long before Harry is shrugging out of his borrowed jumper, leaving nothing but smooth skin behind.

Smooth skin decorated with a whole lot of tattoos. 

Louis does his best not to look, he really does. He’s briefly noticed that Harry has tattoos before, of course, but he never thought they were permanent. Capitol fashion changes quickly, after all, and while all types of body modifications are _simply the rave_ at one point or another, they’re always made easy to remove as soon as the next fad hits.

Now that he has time to really study them, however, he sees that Harry’s tattoos look _real_ —like they’ve been made by an old woman down by the dock next to Victors’ Bayou, someone with nails that are permanently stained with ink, and with stories upon stories etched into her skin.

Without meaning to, Louis reaches out and traces the outline of a mermaid along Harry’s left forearm. “Where did you get this?”

Harry startles but then relaxes almost immediately. He turns his arm a bit, showing off the mermaid from different angles, clearly proud of the ink on his arm.

“This one is from my first trip alone outside the Capitol, two years ago in District Eight. Freaked my mum out good and proper. She thought I’d get hepatitis.”

“I’m not surprised,” Louis says. “Those tourist tattoo places can be pretty dodgy.”

“I got it at a local place,” Harry replies. “An intern at the fashion house I’m at, Cinna, his mum is from District Eight. He gave me the recommendation.”

Louis mind immediately starts turning. District parentage in the Capitol can only mean one thing: being a child of one of the victors who’ve graduated from Snow’s circuit to a more permanent position with someone in his inner circle. He knows of only three living victors who share that fate, and only one of them is from District Eight.

“Taffeta.”

“Yeah, that’s Cinna’s mum,” Harry says. “Do you know her? I think she might have been a victor back in the day?”

“Twenty-fourth games,” Louis replies. “I’ve met her once, I think. Didn’t know she had children.”

“Well, it was probably kept quiet,” Harry says. “Bit of a scandal, with Cinna’s father being married and all, _and_ a member of Snow’s cabinet, I assume that they—” he breaks off, looking at Louis, suddenly horrified. “Oh gods, you don’t think—?”

Louis just raises an eyebrow in reply; the stricken look on Harry’s face worsens.

“But she’s been his mistress for _years_ ,” he tries. “Cinna’s _my age_ , and his mum’s still—excuse me, I—”

“Leeward side!” Louis calls out after him, then immediately feels a prickle of guilt. Harry may be from the Capitol, but he’s not one of the people who openly profit from twenty-four children’s death each year. At least not yet. There’s another pang of guilt at that last thought, because while Harry is unforgivably naïve on some issues, he seems to actually try to listen as Louis or one of the other people on board talk.

Harry comes back, still pale, and sits down on the deck next to Louis, reaching for the bottled water and a packet of crackers that Louis helpfully laid out in his absence.

They sit next to each other without speaking for a while, watching the sky change colour.

“I got the mermaid because I was fantasising about the ocean being like this,” Harry says after a while, gesturing to the glittering water. “Ever since I was really little; mum would take me and Gemma to the aquarium, and I would stay in front of the tanks forever, just looking at the fish. Every year, I would beg for us to go on holiday to District Four, or even to Three, or any of the other districts that have a little bit of coast. We always went skiing instead, with mum’s colleagues and their families.”

“Sound like _such_ a chore,” Louis replies drily. “Really, Curly, skiing with the rich and powerful. How _did_ you manage to survive?”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry laughs. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“Oh no. Anything but that!”

Harry’s laughter intensifies, and Louis can’t stop a smile from breaking out on his face as well. Damn Harry and his ridiculous… everything really. Dimples especially. Extremely silly, those. No practical use, whatsoever. 

In the soft dawn light, those dimples are even more pronounced than usual. Everything’s lit up with a soft glow—Harry’s freckles, the birthmark on one cheek, the day-old stubble. His hair, braided earlier while working on the jibs, is escaping and almost falling into his eyes, and Louis finds himself wanting to reach out and tuck it back. 

Harry turns to meet his gaze, and with a sudden, startling realisation, Louis finds that he doesn’t feel uneasy by how close they’re sitting. Their hands are right beside one another, close enough that Louis can sense the warmth of Harry’s skin. Harry’s eyes drop downward for a second, and Louis feels his breath hitch slightly in his throat. 

Harry is the first to look away. He sits up straighter, folding his arms across his knees. 

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Colin and Bradley, huh.”

Louis feels himself tense up. “I’m really sorry—” 

“Not your fault,” Harry says, smiling slightly. “Not Colin’s, either, from the little I know about magic. Hard to know what’s true there, of course.”

“Still,” Louis insists. “I don’t know what Niall was thinking, bringing them aboard here.”

“He seems to be all about family,” Harry says, tone inquiring. “I guess they’re a really tight-knit group?”

“Yes and no,” Louis says. It’s uncomfortable, somehow, talking about Niall—Louis isn’t sure he knows anything for certain any longer. “There are so many of them, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know everyone as well as he likes to pretend. But they really stick their neck out for each other, yeah.”

Harry pulls Lottie’s jumper towards him, starting to fold it neatly. “I get that, I think. It’s just me, mum and Gemma at home, so I don’t really know what it’s like to have aunts and uncles and cousins left and right, but I think family can be about more than that. More than just about blood, you know? Like, more about what choices you make, what people you trust?”

He trails off, and Louis feels a pang of something indefinable in his chest. There’s a wistful note in Harry’s voice, and a hitch in his voice that hints of something darker underneath. Harry sounds lost, but determined at the same time. Louis can’t decipher it.

“You have a large family, too, right?” Harry continues. “Four siblings, you said. What are they like?” 

Louis is about to deflect away, moving away from anything personal. Something about how Harry’s sitting there, however, looking all sincere, makes him just start talking instead. 

“All girls. I’m always outnumbered. Like I said earlier, Lottie’s the eldest, so before my Games she was the other breadwinner among us. She’s the best sailor by far—better than me, too, but never tell her that. She turned fourteen just before this year’s Games and… what else… oh, she was almost eaten by a shark once, to hear her tell it. Actually, she had just got back on the boat when they spotted the fin approaching, but she won’t stop talking about it. Then there’s Fizzy. She’s eleven. She used to be apprentice to a sailmaker, but nowadays she mostly helps out mum at home. She’s becoming a pretty good cook. Well, better than when she started. And then the twins—eight-year-olds. Terrors. Capitalists in the making. Excellent hagglers.” Louis takes a deep breath. “All of them drive me crazy. Especially when they gang up on me. Sisters, you know.”

Harry shrugs. “Must be nice though? Having them all around? I don’t see a lot of Gemma, to be honest. She’s on the political track, so these days we mostly cross paths at official events. She seems to be very successful.”

“Well, she is the eldest. Isn’t that a big thing in the Capitol? Heirs and legacies and such?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “I guess it is. More so for some people than others, though.”

“Meaning not you?”

Harry’s silent for a long time.

“I honestly don’t know,” he says finally, eyes staying firmly on the horizon. “I never had to think about it much. Which I suspect is your answer, right there. I never had to think about _any_ of this.”

Louis isn’t entirely sure what to respond to that. He takes another bite of his bread instead.

“I understand why you’d hate me,” Harry says suddenly, taking a deep breath. “I get it. It’s not a nice feeling, and I hate that things went the way they did with us that last night of the Games. But I guess I can’t really blame you.”

Louis opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Harry’s still looking steadfastly away, his shoulders tense.

“I don’t hate you,” Louis says finally, surprised to find that it’s true. 

Harry laughs shortly. “You don’t have to humour me.”

“I’m not. There are quite a few people that I can definitely say that I hate, but you’re not one of them.”

“Right. Other people in the Capitol. People like me.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. Harry’s right in a way, and the irony of the situation is that Harry being from the Capitol—and being on the ship as Louis’ patron, regardless of the tentative truce they have going on—makes him the most known entity at the moment. As a Capitolite, Harry is simple to be around: a predictable constant in the chaos of magic, uncertainty and Niall keeping huge, important secrets that’s whirling inside Louis’ head.

“Harry, hey.” 

Harry turns his head back towards him, and before Louis has time to think about what he’s doing, he leans forward across the space between them and catches Harry’s mouth in a soft kiss. It lasts for only a second, before Harry makes a surprised sound and pulls back slightly; Louis keeps absolutely still, lets Harry take a moment to collect himself before leaning back in, coaxing Harry closer, into another kiss.

“ _Louis,_ ” Harry breathes out, and he sounds just as uncertain and confused as Louis has been feeling all day. The tension grows between them, and Louis feels utterly aware every part of Harry’s body suddenly, without a single point of actual contact. He swallows hard.

“Do you want this?” Harry asks quietly, pulling back a couple of inches and swallowing hard. “I need to know that you want this. Need to hear you say it. Louis, _please_.”

Harry’s eyes are the darkest Louis has ever seen them, his pupils completely blown, and Louis feels a surge of certainty— _this_ is something he knows how to handle, and something that is sure to distract him from his thoughts, besides. He raises his chin. 

“Yes.”

Harry makes a small sound of surprise, and Louis smiles as he leans back in, catching Harry’s lips with his, hands coming up to cradle the back of Harry’s head as he pushes himself up on his knees, pulling Harry closer and deepening the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://actuallyredorchid.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments are love!


	6. Chapter 6

Hopclover Island’s population is centered in a wide bay, with ramshackle houses lining the beach and a raggedy pier that is definitely a year or two behind schedule on repairs. They drop the _Ainsley’s_ anchor in the deeper part of the bay, not wanting to risk the shallower waters, and take the skiff in to land. 

They’re met by a woman with Niall’s hair and laugh lines, who introduces herself as Lir. 

“You’ve run that poor old girl through the wringer, haven’t you?” she says, nodding out towards the _Ainsley_. “What have you been getting up to?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Niall says. “And _Ainsley_ has been through worse. Remember that tempest two years back when I was by this way?”

“I try to forget.”

“We do need to lay up for a few days for repairs, though,” Niall goes on. “I don’t suppose you know a decent sailmaker in these parts? We might have to settle for mediocre.”

“Cheeky,” Lir says, cuffing him over the head. “Bring it over and I’ll have it back good as new. Now, let’s get all of you settled in.”

They all look at each other. 

“We can stay on ship,” Bradley offers.

“Yes, I don’t want to be any trouble,” Harry says. 

“Nonsense,” Lir says cheerfully. “We have a few cabins to spare. I’ve already arranged for the large cabin down by the south beach for you two,” she motions at Louis and Harry, “And the Johnsons are happy to take in the rest of you. Except for dear Niall here, of course. We’re keeping him close by to make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I would never!” Niall exclaims, putting a hand to his chest in mock-offense. Lir raises an eyebrow. “Alright, yes, I might have run into a few tight spots when I was young and foolish,” Niall admits. “But I’m all grown now. Mature, like.”

“You ran Sean’s boat onto that shoal less than four months ago.”

“It was all Nyna’s fault, really. And I thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore.”

“Anyway,” Lir says, pointedly looking away from Niall, but smiling, “I believe I’ve made my case. Now shoo, all of you.” She turns to Louis and Harry and inclines her head politely. “Someone should be along to take your bags shortly. Have a wonderful stay.”

“Thank you,” Louis replies, and then turns to Harry, holding out his hand. “Ready to go, love?”

Harry seems thrown for a second, but recovers quickly, taking Louis’ hand and stepping closer to him. A young man comes up to them and quickly puts the luggage they brought with them from the ship onto a small cart.

“Your cabin is the one right down on the beach,” Lir says, pointing. “The nicest way down there is to simply follow the shoreline. Sean will make sure your things arrive safely in the meantime.”

Louis thanks her again, tells the rest of their group that they’ll see them later and starts walking down towards the sea, with Harry following along. As soon as they’re out of view, Harry pulls his hand out of Louis’, confusion written on his face.

“Louis, what—”

Louis doesn’t let him finish, opting instead for sneaking an arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him into a kiss. Harry’s arms come up to wrap around his neck almost immediately, and for a glorious moment, it’s just the two of them, the sun and the sound of waves breaking softly against the shore. If he shuts down his thoughts and empties his mind, Louis can almost imagine what being here as a normal person must feel like.

Until Harry decides to break up Louis’ nice little escapist fantasy, that is.

“Louis, wait. We should talk about this.”

Louis counters by pressing a line of small kisses along Harry’s jawline.

“I think we’re ‘talking’ just fine,” he says, moving a little to the side and catching Harry’s earlobe between his teeth. “It’s like Ursula always tells her tributes: never underestimate the importance of _body language_.” He shimmies his hips against Harry, who—just as Louis’ had hoped—cracks up.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’d have to say I’m highly possible,” Louis counters. “Look! All flesh and bone, a 100% authentic District Four prime victor at your service.”

Harry stops laughing. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“Talk about yourself like a product,” Harry says. “I know things are—I _know_ , okay? But just—It’s not right. You’re not—you’re _you_ , and that’s… I wish I knew how to put this better.”

Louis waits, feeling increasingly uneasy. The ocean is calm, almost like a mirror, the tiniest of waves creasing it and breaking gently against the shore.

“I don’t want to be like them,” Harry says eventually. “I _can’t_ be like them. And if there’s even a chance that I am, then I can’t do this. Whatever this is.” He gestures between them.

“Harry, it was just a kiss,” Louis replies, trying to bring things back around. “And a bit more back on the ship, sure,” he amends, as Harry just looks at him. “I appreciate the concern, but right now, how about we take advantage of the fact that we’re miles away from everything and not think too much about what it all means, all right?” He makes an effort to relax his body as much as possible, to project the idea to Harry that—really—everything is _just fine_.

Harry looks back at him, conflict clear in his eyes. Then he turns his face away. “I’m not sure what the right answer is to that.”

“The right answer is come here and kiss me,” Louis replies, reaching out and pulling Harry in by the side of his shirt. “And then we take a tour of our cabin. And then we go from there.” He punctuates the last statement by sliding a hand down the small of Harry’s back, feeling himself smile slightly as a shiver goes through Harry’s whole body. 

When Louis leans back in for another kiss, Harry meets him half-way.

* * *

The cabin is absolutely lovely—large and airy, with the sound of the ocean coming in softly through the open windows. It’s not exactly high-class, but very comfortable and somehow welcoming. 

Louis realises why when he catches sight of the photographs on one wall. 

“Is this someone’s home?” Harry asks. “I don’t want to put someone out of their house.”

Louis looks around, taking in the dust on the photographs and the general tidiness of the place, far too bare to be recently inhabited.

“Seasonal workers,” he says. “Probably travel to the tourist towns for the summer.”

Harry nods and moves to take a closer look at the photographs as well. “Whole families go? Not just one of the parents?”

“Usually, yeah,” Louis says. “It depends on what kind of work they’re signed up for. Some positions are more kid-friendly than others.”

Harry reaches out a hand and traces one of the frames. Three children and what looks like a stringy, too-old-to-get-much-meat-from goat are stood on a sandy beach, smiling. “They look so happy here.”

“They probably were,” Louis says, before he has a chance to think.

“Were?” Harry repeats, frowning. “What do you mean? They get to come back, right?”

“‘Course they will, I’m just talking out of my ass,” Louis says, making sure to add a disarming smile. “Hey, why don’t we take a look at the rest of the house? Find the bedroom, perhaps…?” He moves closer to Harry and puts a hand on his arm, stroking softly.

Harry goes still, and Louis has a vivid flashback to their morning together—the way Harry closed his eyes and went pliant and breathless as Louis pushed him back down against the deck and set to work on his belt. The way he wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck and kissed him like it was easy—and in that moment, Louis had almost felt as though it was.

Also—unlike then—there’s no Bradley coming to start his shift here to interrupt them. Just him and Harry, the sound of waves against the shore and an empty house to explore for suitably comfortable nooks and crannies to lose themselves in. Perfect.

“I think I’ll go outside and wait for our bags,” Harry says, pulling away.

Louis frowns. “I think Sean already left them outside the door.”

“Great, then I’ll start unpacking,” Harry says quickly. “I need a shirt that’s not soaked through with sweat. Not that I predict a new one will last any longer.”

He slips out the door, leaving Louis standing in the middle of the room, trying to make sense of what just happened.

After what feels like forever, Harry comes back in, only to send Louis a small, apologetic smile and disappear down the hall towards the bedroom. Louis doesn’t go after him; he can take a hint: it’s clear that Harry isn’t in the mood.

He waits for a feeling of relief to come and overshadow the small sting of rejection he feels, growing steadily more uncomfortable when it… doesn’t. Louis shakes his head and heads out on the porch to grab his own bag as well. 

It’s all fine. They need to get back to the community hall for lunch, anyway.

* * *

Lunch at Hopclover island is a loud event. Food is served from the community kitchen, where one of Lir’s sisters and her husband are cooking up a storm. People go in and out, grabbing a plate and a seat between chores while children and various animals run around, alternating between playing with each other and nipping bites of extra food from unguarded plates.

Harry lights up within five minutes, as he becomes the center of attention of a gaggle of kids, who all want to look at his clothes and jewellery and run their hands through his long hair.

Colin and Bradley seem to feel right at home as well—or Colin does at least, laughing and talking while Bradley sits next to him like a very blond and attractive shadow. He’s not looking at Colin directly, but watching them, Louis gets the sense that Bradley always knows where Colin is, regardless. 

It’s the same with Colin, he thinks, seeing the way Colin’s frame is angled towards Bradley even when his face is turned another way. The two of them seem to always be aware of one another, always ready to have each other’s back—an unspoken agreement to be there. 

It makes Louis realise how strange it feels, not to be sure where he stands with Niall right now. They left things weirdly after the storm, and it’s gnawing at Louis still, an annoying worry in the back of his head. 

He leans over towards Lir. 

“Where did Niall get to, do you know?” 

“Kitchen, I think. He relieved Meara a while ago.”

Louis thanks her and makes his way across the hall towards the kitchen. The door is open, great clouds of deliciously-smelling steam wafting out of the opening and carrying with it two voices. 

“We didn’t really have a choice at that point,” Louis hears Niall’s voice say quietly. “And I think it worked out for the best, actually.”

“That’s a Niall definition of _best_ if I ever heard one,” someone says in a rather sour tone of voice. It sounds like Niall is trying to spin the panic of the storm into a classic sailor’s yarn, Louis thinks—although usually he prefers a larger audience to his tales. And whoever he’s talking to is obviously not buying into the cheerful facade. 

“We have a way in now,” Niall says, his voice insisting, and Louis raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to be about. 

Before he has time to think about it, Harry comes up next to him, trips on something and collides painfully with Louis’ right shoulder.

“Ow!”

Louis steps sideways to get his balance, puts his foot into a patch of spilled soup and grasps at Harry for support. Unfortunately, Harry seems to have managed to knock over an entire set of chairs in the meantime and is scrambling to catch all of them at once, failing miserably. 

In the midst of the commotion, Niall pops his head out through the door. He catches sight of Louis, and for a moment, Louis thinks he sees a flash of guilt in Niall’s eyes, which makes him wonder suspiciously if Niall’s been either a) embellishing his own heroics during their journey—not an uncommon thing for him to do—or b) needs Louis’ help with something or other and has already gone ahead and made arrangements for both of them. He narrows his eyes, trying to send Niall a warning message with only his brain. Niall happily ignores him.

“Lads!” he says cheerfully. “Come and meet Finley. One of the most unpleasant men this side of Cape Hamilton.” 

“Piss off.” A man steps out of the door, inclining his head respectfully towards them. His hair is bleached almost white with sun, making it hard to tell his exact age, but Louis guesses somewhere around fifty. “Finley Hawkins. At your service.”

“ _At your service_ ,” Niall mimics. “All la-di-da all of a sudden, are we?”

“Just because no one taught you manners,” Finley says, then turns back to Louis and Harry. “There’s still plenty of folks to feed and I need Niall for a bit longer, so if you’d like to wait out in the sun for a while—” 

“Come here and help me scrub mussels,” Niall interrupts, motioning for Harry to join him. “I’ll show you how to test for dead ones.”

Finley opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“I’ll go and check on the pot, then,” he says eventually. “Someone also needs to go find me some chives. There’s a cluster growing over by the woodshack.” He looks curiously at Harry, then throws Niall a sour glance. “Do not think this is over, lad.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at Niall as Finley retreats back into the kitchen. “So he’s not falling for your boyish charm, I see,” he says. “Is he upset about the risks we took with the rigging?”

Niall laughs. “Yeah, something like that. Regular old sourpuss, he is. But a genius with woodwork. Anyway, Harry, sit here. So we need to check that the mussels are still alive, yeah? For now, at least, until we cook them and eat them like the savages we are. So what you do is you give each one a little tap…”

“I’ll go get the chives, then,” Louis says. Niall gives him a vague thumbs up. 

“Thanks, mate. Finley will cook me instead of the mussels if he doesn’t get his seasonings. OK, Harry, look at this one. Dead as a doorknob. Chuck that one over there.”

Louis looks back at them as he walks off. Niall is still talking a mile a minute, demonstrating how to scrub the mussels clean, with Harry paying rapt attention.

There’s a small sting of uncertainty, but Louis pushes it down. There’s no rush; he can have a talk to Niall later.

* * *

Colin and Bradley are staying in a cabin a short walk away from the main hamlet, and when Louis and Harry get there the next morning, Louis has a small shock: Colin and Bradley’s host is another victor.

They step onto the porch, and Kogia looms up to greet them. 

She isn’t as tall as she seems, Louis realises after a first, stunned moment. It’s just that she’s so _massive_ , her shoulders broad and slightly hunched, her biceps enough to make Career victors like Brutus jealous, her whole body radiating strength. 

She stretches her hand out to Louis. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Won the year before last, didn’t you?”

Her expression kind of says it all. Louis nods silently, taking her hand. Her palm feels like shark skin. 

“Haven’t seen much of you in the Capitol,” he says, not sure of what else to respond.

“Not my scene,” she says lightly. “Well, not that that usually matters. But I’ve fallen out of focus, you could say, which means I’ve been able to settle down here. And this is Harry Styles, I take it?” she adds, turning to Harry. “Colin has spoken about both of you.”

“You’re from up north as well?” Louis asks. He always knew that one of the previous Four victors was from the northern part, but he’d assumed they were dead already. 

“As well?” Kogia asks. 

“As Colin and Bradley.” 

“Oh, yes. Of course. Yes, I was raised a whaler. This was while the bowheads would still come to our shores, though. Haven’t seen one of them since I was a girl.”

“Did you move down after your Games?” Harry asks. Louis suppresses a wince. Harry’s become a lot more aware than he was when they first met, but he still talks as though movement is free within Panem. As though Kogia ever had free choice in where to settle. 

“Not for a while,” Kogia says diplomatically. “I would have to come down for the Games, of course, but I would always go back home after the summer. After Ursula won, though, she took over my role as mentor. I stayed in the north full-time for some years after that, but then eventually migrated down here. And then I met Leanne.” She smiles. “Anyway, what are you doing here today?”

“Niall is taking Harry and Colin for a tour around the island,” Louis explains. “We’re all meeting here. And I heard that you’re in need of help with your fishing nets?”

“An extra pair of hands would be appreciated. Leanne’s out back with Bradley. Go on right ahead.”

* * *

Sorting and repairing nets with Kogia, Leanne and Bradley is calm and soothing. They don’t speak too much at first, other than to ask for someone to pass the thread or help out with a particularly tangled bit of net, and Louis allows his mind to slip away, his world shrinking down to the steady rhythm of his hands and the lengths of net collecting at his side. 

Around noon, Leanne and Bradley pause their work to knock out some lunch for them, and they eat all together out back, in the bright sunshine. 

“What do you suppose Niall and the others are up to today, then?” Kogia asks eventually. 

“Niall is probably busy doing the sales pitch to Harry,” Louis says sardonically. “You should have heard him when we visited the pearl fishers outside Oyster Bay. He sounded like a Capitol telepresenter.”

“I imagine he’d find that sort of thing amusing,” Leanne says, smiling. “Getting to parody the Capitol. A way of getting back, I suppose.”

Louis hesitates briefly. But Kogia is a fellow victor, and Bradley is keeping all of Colin’s dangerous secrets. Here, if anywhere, is a place where he might be somewhat candid. 

“Guess so,” he agrees, then decides to dare it. “You should see his impression of Caesar Flickerman. It’s very accurate and rather cruel.”

Leanne laughs. “He and Finnick must get on like a house on fire.” 

“They haven’t met, actually. Not sure it’s wise to put the two of them in the same room, to be honest.”

Kogia smiles quietly. “How is Finnick?” she asks, then pauses. “I hear stories. Poor lad.”

Louis shrugs, unsure of how to exactly answer the question. “Too wrapped up in Annie right now to really care about anything else,” he says. “But, yeah, he’s had some rough years.”

“From what I can tell, he seems to be self-medicating more than what’s good for him,” Bradley says quietly, and Louis turns to look at him. The pictures and stories about Finnick that make it into general circulation are always glowingly positive, painting him as the charming, larger-than-life party victor, happily chasing one romantic entanglement after another. It’s not clear where Bradley could be getting his information about the less glamourous side of things. 

“It happens, unfortunately,” Kogia says. “It’s all too easy to crawl into a bottle and all too hard to find your way out again.”

Louis sees Leanne shift closer, her foot brushing up against Kogia’s.

"I guess that’s where the victors’ networks help?” Bradley continues. “Finding support in other people who have been through the same thing. Like the Ones—”

“OK, where are you getting all this?” Louis interrupts, putting his plate down with a bang. “You know far too much about how the Capitol works. Are you a victor stalker or some kind of Capitol spy or what? Did they send you to find Colin? Is that what all this is about?”

Bradley gapes at him, shocked. There’s a long, tense pause, and then Kogia shifts in her seat and clears her throat. 

“Time to come clean, I think,” she says. 

Bradley swallows. “I—yes, well, you’re right in that I haven’t told you everything.” He draws in a deep breath and glances at Kogia before continuing. “I’m, uh—I’m actually from District One.”

Louis stares at him. 

“I was in the training programme,” Bradley continues. “Working to become a tribute in the Games. In One, we’re taught more than just swordcraft and wrestling. We’re trained in every aspect of the Games—the cameras, the interviews and everything leading up to the Arena, and also what happens after. So yeah, I have an idea of what life as a victor is. Well,” he hesitates, “some, at least. I’ve come to understand it might not be exactly like what it’s made out to be back home.”

Louis takes a breath. A lot of things suddenly make sense. 

“Morgana,” he says. 

Bradley starts, then looks guilty. “I know her, yes,” he admits. “I guess it was stupid, asking you about her, but—well, I just wanted to know if she’s all right.”

“She seems to manage,” Louis says shortly, not really wanting to go into the whole clusterfuck that is the circuit and how it affects different people. “So you knew, obviously, Kogia?”

“Being from a remote and exotic location is generally a good technique, I imagine, but it’s hard to fake to a native,” Kogia says mildly. She’s smiling slightly, which is both annoying and, somehow, reassuring. Whatever Bradley’s story is, it appears that Kogia has at least accepted it and doesn’t see him as a threat. 

“So what happened?” Louis asks. “Why have you been touting yourself as a District Four sailor?”

Bradley lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, looking pained. “I was in an accident. Right before I was supposed to be chosen as tribute. My knee was crushed in a training exercise, bad enough that it probably wouldn’t heal and definitely not in time for the Games. So I was shuffled off.” He pushes his shoulders back, looking away from Louis. “There was no place left for me in District One. There was nothing I could do, no way I could contribute any more. I was an orphan, and even if I’d had a family, I would only have been a burden to them. It’s tough, there, washing out of the programme. You don’t have many options left. But there’s a train line for the Peacekeepers that runs up to the northern reaches, and I bribed my way onto that. I was planning to disappear into the forest.”

Louis watches him curiously. Bradley’s jaw is set, his shoulders tense. _Disappear_ , Louis thinks. An honourable warrior’s way out, then. Gods, but District One sounds stupid sometimes. 

“Obviously you aren’t good at getting lost,” he says. 

Bradley smiles for the first time. “Colin found me. I’d managed to get myself pretty banged up, but he came across me and nursed me back to health. All the while telling me I was a gigantic idiot, so we didn’t exactly get off to a stellar start.” Bradley rolls his eyes, as though he thinks that will make him look like less of a soppy romantic. Then he taps his leg. “Healed the knee, too, while he was at it.”

The easy way in which he throws that out makes Louis glance over at Kogia and Leanne. Neither of them bats an eye, so obviously they, at least, are in the know regarding the whole magic thing. It makes Louis wonder just how many people are actually aware of Colin’s abilities, and it makes him see Finley’s annoyance with Niall the day before in a new light. 

That thought leads him onto another. “Does Harry know where you actually come from?” 

For a moment, Bradley seems to hesitate, but then he shakes his head. “No. I don’t think he has any idea.” He swallows. “I’d be happy if you don’t tell him. I mean—Colin is a big enough secret to trust him with. You know?”

“You’ve always known about Colin, then,” Louis says. It’s not really a question, but Bradley answers it anyway.

“Not at the start.” He laughs. “You’d be surprised at how utterly blind I was acting. There was this guy healing my cuts and sores in days, and I just thought he was pretty good with herbs. Makes me look like a right prat, now that I think back on it.” 

He grows silent, looking out over the Johnsons’ lawn again. 

“I’ll never stop owing him,” he says quietly. 

Louis looks at Kogia and Leanne. This sounds like some kind of District One honour thing again. “Is that a problem?”

Bradley laughs shortly. “I guess it shouldn’t be. But—well—it’s hard to explain. I’ve trained my whole life to be independent, strong, a victor. Surrendering control like that… It doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“Well, you’re District Four now,” Kogia says. “Here, we see things people do for each other more like waves: they go back and forth.”

“I’m sure Colin has plenty of things to be grateful to you about in return,” Leanne adds. “A good partnership is like trimming a sail. You have to find the right balance.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Bradley says. “It’s hard to get that balance when your partner is so much more powerful than you are. I mean, you’ve all seen Colin. He doesn’t look like much, but I’ve seen him call down lightning from the skies and slow down time like it was nothing. And I’m just—me.” He picks up a new tangle of nets and starts looking for an edge.

Louis looks at him, trying to sort out everything he’s just learned. What Bradley’s saying definitely strikes a chord. 

“So how do you make it work?” he hears himself ask.

“I love him,” Bradley says simply. “He’s a pain in the neck and always gets himself into trouble, but he’s my pain, I guess. Being without him would be a lot worse.”

“Seems like you’ve found good wind for your sail from where I’m sitting,” Leanne says, smiling. “Now, hand me those nets and go get the stove lit; it’s time for my noon cuppa.”

* * *

Louis doesn’t see Harry until dinner that night, which is served in the community hall as usual and, in turn, means they are surrounded by people late into the night. When Harry finally tears himself away from a group of old men and women sitting out on the porch, trading stories about the old days of District Four, it’s nearly midnight.

After a whole day of working with nets, Louis’ arms feel heavy, like there’s a growing ache deep inside his bones. Harry looks tired as well, dragging his feet behind him and yawning as they make their way across the sand.

Louis doesn’t even want to know how much money Niall has encouraged Harry to part ways with during their tour of the island.

They make it up the steps to the cabin’s porch and through the front door, which shuts behind them with a creaking sound. Harry turns his head, as though he just thought of something he wants to tell Louis, his face open and smiling with his eyelids drooping just slightly with sleep. 

Louis feels his whole body react, Harry’s smile coaxing his own mouth to respond without Louis hardly knowing what he’s doing—the moment natural and easy and very startling. 

“I do not believe for one moment that it’s possible to sail around all of Panem in two months,” Harry says. Louis raises his eyebrows. 

“And yet you sounded so very impressed only five minutes ago,” he says, and Harry laughs. 

“Thought it seemed rude to interrupt with scepticism. They had such a good flow to the story. And who am I to say; perhaps the continent has grown exponentially since Oona’s youth? I mean, what is she—a hundred and forty years old?”

Louis grins back at him, then clears his throat. 

“I’m going to wash my face before bed. I can’t smell anything but pipe smoke right now.”

“Good plan,” Harry agrees, smiling somewhat awkwardly. 

The night before, Harry went down to the beach with Niall, Colin and Bradley and some of Niall’s old friends, while Louis took the opportunity to get some well-deserved rest. He doesn’t know what time Harry came back, but he’d slipped into bed without waking Louis, and then still been sleeping soundly the next morning when Louis got up.

Now, though… Now Harry is sitting in bed as Louis returns from the bathroom, ostensibly combing through his hair with his fingers in a relaxed manner, but with his entire body looking stiff with nervous tension.

Louis sits down on the other side of the bed, starting to unlace his shoes and trying to think of something—anything—to say. 

“How are you doing with that?” he asks eventually. “I noticed one of the kids was trying to braid your hair before. There may be no saving it now.”

Harry laughs. “You’re right, I may have to cut it all off.”

“A sad day for humanity.”

“Well, you never know. I could use it as an excuse to bring large hats back into fashion.”

Louis nods, and then hesitates. His shoes are off, and so are his socks, but getting started on his trousers or shirt suddenly seems like a decision he’s not quite ready to make.

In the end, he decides to just forge ahead, pulling his trousers off and then going for the shirt in a quick, decisive motion. The way it briefly gets stuck halfway ruins the effect a bit, but he shuffles under the covers with what he feels is at least most of his dignity intact. 

Harry’s still sitting propped up against the headboard. It looks like he’s trying not to smile, but then his face turns serious.

“When you turned around and started talking to me at that party,” he says, “I—there was a connection there, for me. Regardless of what you might think, I’m not usually one for going home with people I’ve just met. At all. Except with you, I did. And I loved it. And then it all blew up spectacularly.”

Louis is silent for a moment, not quite sure what to reply. “It’s different now though, no? Now that we both know where we have one another?” he settles on, eventually.

“That’s the thing though,” Harry says. “I don’t know. I’m not sure about anything, right now.”

This is all becoming serious very fast. Louis tries to backpedal to more familiar waters. He reaches out to Harry, taking one of his hands in his. “Do you believe that I’m attracted to you?”

“I don’t know. I want to.”

“Sounds like a no?”

“Maybe,” Harry admits. “I think it’s more that… I’m afraid to jump into it again. It took a while for it to really hit me, but with this trip and everything that’s happened—well. There are a lot of things that suddenly look way different to me than they did before.”

“Harry…”

“You know, sometimes I almost wish I’d given you the money,” Harry says. “When you asked, with your tribute—Annie—right there on that screen, I almost said yes. And then I caught myself, and what happened happened. Maybe, if I’d just _let go_ of my principles for a while, you would have left with a smile and a promise to call me, and I would have fantasised about seeing you again, while knowing somewhere deep down that you wouldn’t actually call.”

Louis swallows. That scenario would definitely have made things a lot easier. “Do you think you’d be happier then?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Maybe,” Louis replies honestly. “You can’t be too fussed about it, though. Things happen, and for the last couple of years—for me—most of those things have been pretty shitty, granted. But there’s no telling what else might have been, and thinking about it just makes you go mad, eventually.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I guess it does.”

He lies down next to Louis and pulls the sheet up almost all the way to his chin.

“Can I still put my head on your chest?” Harry asks quietly. “You don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just—it’s nice, just feeling you breathe when you sleep.”

Louis holds out his arm and pulls Harry close, a small smile making its way treacherously onto his lips.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait for this one. Fanny went on her own sailing adventure during the summer and life got in the way. But here is the conclusion at last! We dedicate this chapter to Anna7 :)
> 
> Thank you to all who have followed along! 
> 
> (There may be epilogues in the making as well.)

The next day, they make it over to Lir’s cabin. They find her sitting on her front porch, the _Ainsley’s_ mainsail spread out over the ground in front of her. 

“What have you boys been doing?” she says, looking at Louis and raising her eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have a sail at all, lad.”

“I’m very aware,” Louis says drily. “Can you fix it?”

“Seen worse,” Lir says simply. “We’ll need to reinforce the head, but that’s fine. I had some spare sail cloth lying around anyway; this’ll be done in a day or two. The broken tackle is a bit more difficult. Niall will have to rope in Finley or Margaret for that one.”

Harry’s watching Lir’s hands move, looking fascinated. 

“Can you show me how to do that?” he blurts out finally. 

Lir looks startled for a moment, then smiles. “It isn’t too difficult,” she says. “But sure. I’m certain I had another sewing palm around here.”

“Sewing palm?”

Lir holds up her hand, demonstrating the leather harness covering her hand. “You know a thimble? This is a larger version, I guess you could say. For _real_ sewing work.” She grins, then reaches out for his hand. “Here, let me help you.”

“So this is where I put the needle?” Harry asks, inspecting the palm as she manoeuvers it onto his hand. 

“Exactly. Sailcloth is tough, so you need to really push the needle through with some force. You can’t do that with just your hand.”

“Especially not my hands,” Harry says, mock rueful, holding up his free hand to show the blisters. “It was tough enough to handle the sheets on board the _Ainsley_.”

“What on earth,” Lir says, shooting Louis a glance that’s half recriminatory, half shocked. “Have you been making him do all the work, you lazy buggers?”

Louis holds up his hands, warding off any eventual lectures. “I tried to make him stop.”

“He did,” Harry laughs. “I’m a terrible listener. So, anyway, what can I do?”

“You can reinforce this seam, here.” Lir points out a stretch of sail. “Just imitate my stitches.”

The two of them work in silence for a while. Louis leans back against the porch railing, watching Harry frown with concentration as he puts in stitch after careful stitch. 

“So you’re a tailor back home, then?” Lir asks eventually. 

Louis smiles. As a Styles, chances are very low that Harry’s apprenticeship involves any actual sewing, and Louis doubts that his future title will be anything as prosaic as “tailor”. Harry only smiles and shrugs, however. 

“I would like to be,” he says. “But I have so much to learn, still.” He holds up the thread. “For instance, what is this thread?”

Lir laughs. “Regular linen. It feels strange because it’s waxed before use. Oh, I’m glad you reminded me. Louis!”

Louis jerks, guilty. “What?”

“Grab the stick of paraffin from my bag and wax some thread for me, will you? I’m almost out.” She leans towards Harry, looking apologetic. “Should really be done with beeswax, of course.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Can’t be got nowadays,” Lir says. “All the beeswax goes to the Capitol.” 

Louis turns his head quickly towards her. He can see the moment she catches herself, her expression becoming worried for a second. Then she grins. 

“Don’t know what you use it all for, but I’m guessing it’s something important! Anyway, paraffin works fine as a substitute, of course. I’m just brought up on beeswax.”

“Here you go,” Louis says, standing up and walking over to hand her a length of thread. He stops by Harry on the way back to his spot, leaning down to peer over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Not bad,” he says. “Be careful or Lir will press-gang you into an apprentice position.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, still focused heavily on his sewing.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, I suppose,” he says, looking up at Louis with a twinkle in his eyes. “I mean, District Four has a lot of beauty to it.”

Louis raises an unimpressed eyebrow, deftly covering for the fact that his heart is suddenly beating a little faster.

“That is an awful line, Harold. I am appalled, truly.”

“I have no idea what you mean—I was talking about the beautiful weather.”

“Sure you were,” Louis says, trying and failing to stop the grin that spreads across the face.

“Oi, Harry! Time to get going!” someone calls from down on the beach. Louis and Harry both turn their heads and see Colin and Bradley approach.

“Sorry, I said I’d go for a trek up the mountain with them today,” Harry says. “I won’t have time to finish this completely right now, I’m afraid,” he tells Lir. “If it’s OK, I can come back and do it later tonight?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Lir says, sending Louis a look that clearly communicates _who is this person and what did you do with your supposed Capitolite?_.

Louis shrugs in reply. In all honesty, he isn’t quite sure himself.

* * *

Louis finds Niall sitting down by the shoreline, scrubbing a wire cage with sand and salt water. He looks up as he sees Louis arrive and grins, holding up the cage. 

“Found this abandoned among Lir’s things,” he says. “Figure we might try crabbing one day. They don’t have any crabs in these parts any more either, but when we’re further out to sea we might try dropping it for a few hours.”

“I would love to have crab again,” Louis says, smiling. “I remember those deviled crabs your mum used to make.”

“Don’t remind me!” Niall exclaims, putting a hand over his heart. “Good days indeed. Before the Capitol had that crab craze and we managed to kill off the entire population in two years.”

Louis sits down, figuring he might as well cannonball right into the conversation they need to be having. “I know about Bradley.”

Niall is visibly startled. “You do?”

“He told me. About how he washed out from District One.” Louis hesitates. “You know, you could have told me. I get that he’s family by association through Colin, and you want to be careful, but you know you can trust me, right?”

Niall looks more uncomfortable than Louis has ever seen him. “It’s—I—” He sighs, running his hands through his hair with a frustrated air. “Look, I’d like to tell you. I want to tell you everything. But, look, this thing with Bradley and Colin—it’s bigger than that, OK? It’s not just about trusting you.”

Louis frowns, and Niall waves his hands. “Which of course I do! But, look—you have your sisters. You have so many people who rely on you. All of this craziness with Colin and his magic, and then all of Bradley’s stuff as well…” He looks away. “I don’t want you to have to keep those secrets. Not if it puts you in danger. You know?”

Louis mulls over that one for a bit. The gut reaction is hurt and frustration, plain and simple. Being the eldest, Louis has always wanted to know what’s going on—to have some control over a situation—and since he became a victor and had most of his control and choices stripped from him, it’s even harder to let go of the little he still has. 

On the other hand, Louis has known Niall since before they could walk and talk. Niall knows Louis, inside and out, _including_ the details of his victor situation, so if he thinks it’s safer for Louis’ sister if Louis backs off of this, then— 

“Okay,” he says. “But if whatever it is gets even bigger, or if it starts going south, make sure to warn me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Niall replies quickly, clearly relieved. “This whole thing sucks, though. I hate not talking to you.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly been making it easy either,” Louis admits. “It’s just... getting saddled with Harry for this trip really threw me. I’m sorry if I’m a prick about it sometimes.”

Niall nods. “How is that going, by the way? I haven’t wanted to ask again, just in case you decided to bite my head off like last time, but you both seem—more content, since we got on the island. Did anything happen?” 

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it again, not sure of how to start. 

“It’s—good,” he says finally. “It turned into something I wasn’t quite expecting. We’ve talked, and—well, I guess you could say we’ve been pretty honest with each other.”

“And he’s a good kisser?” Niall asks. When Louis just stares at him, he grins and leans over to give Louis a friendly shove. “You seriously think you’re being subtle?” 

“I’m just—”

“Acting?” Niall says, still smiling at him. 

Louis almost deflects away, but instead he pauses, looking out over the bay. “Maybe not just acting,” he admits finally. 

“Hey,” Niall says, reaching out and putting a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “It’s OK. It’ll all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

“Who told you that, your crystal ball?” Louis scoffs. “You are scarily optimistic, Niall, do you know that?”

“One of the many reasons why I’m utterly perfect,” Niall replies, grinning widely when Louis rolls his eyes.

“You are _something_ , all right,” Louis agrees. “Come on, let me give you a hand with that so we’re done before lunch.”

* * *

They leave Hopclover Island after six days, and start a slow tour back towards home port. 

It’s a week of good winds and bright sunshine, and they have time to travel around to several lovely, out-of-the-way spots where the sand is white and untouched and they share the space only with seabirds.

During this last week, they also have time to see just how widely the Horan clan is spread over the different parts of District Four. 

They stop by a robust raft floating serenely in the middle of the ocean, where an old relative of Niall is apparently living full time. While she tells old sailor tall tales of sea serpents and rains of fish to Harry, the only one polite enough to listen, Louis takes the skiff out with Colin and Bradley and catches a beautiful blue marlin for their dinner. When they leave, Harry’s apparently been talked into purchasing several bottles of Nanny Helle’s home-distilled liquor of unknown ingredients, which looks appropriately lethal. 

By a series of small islands above a shallow reef a few days later, Niall forks out an extraordinary sum to a second cousin for taking Harry snorkelling for a full afternoon. Harry comes back full of stories about giant rays and friendly turtles, and insists on adding an extravagant tip to the girl’s fee. 

“It was amazing,” he says that night, lying stretched out beside Louis with his arms under his head, smiling up into the roof of the cabin. “Just that feeling of being so close to everything—I mean, I was close enough to touch them.”

“You should try diving sometime,” Louis says, propping himself up on one elbow. “With tubes and things, I mean. Then you’re right there, swimming with them. Of course, when you go down further you lose the colours that you get when snorkelling. Everything becomes more and more tinted with blue, the further down you go. But it’s an amazing feeling, just being part of the ocean life. Being weightless.”

“I didn’t know you went diving.”

Louis shrugs his free shoulder. “I’ve taken Capitol visitors on tours. There’s a market for it.”

Harry laughs shortly. “Should have figured. You never seem to get to do something just because you want to.”

“That’s—” Louis hesitates. “That’s not really true. I do have a life outside of everything that’s connected to the Capitol as well. I mean, yeah, sure, it takes over huge parts of my life, and yeah, that sucks. But there are other parts, too.”

“Like what?” Harry asks softly, turning onto his side and facing Louis. 

Louis lies down again, resting his head on his arm. “I sail a lot. Guess you already knew that, though.”

Harry smiles. “You may have mentioned it. With your sisters, right?”

“Sure. The twins don’t really want to venture further out than the home bay and Fizzie’s more into kayaking than sailing, but me and Lottie do a lot of excursions together. And I like to go out by myself, too—just spend days on the sea, getting away for a while. And me and Niall hang out a lot, of course. He works on the fishing boats, so he’s usually at sea for weeks on end, but we try to get together as often as we can.” Louis pauses. “It’s not a very full social calendar, but it’s nice. I have some good times, too.”

Harry smiles at him. “I’d like hearing about that. It sounds really nice.”

“It’s not very scintillating stuff. A normal evening might be me and Niall meeting up for a few beers and talking. Not too exciting.”

“Well, I’ve been out drinking with Niall once, and as you might recall, that ended with my shirt in the top mast.”

“I promise that it’s not like that every time.”

Harry laughs. “Guess not. But I think that’s what I like about it. It sounds like you can just have a good time together. Easy. You know?”

“Easy.” Louis grins. “You haven’t been in the middle of a Horan/Tomlinson flaming row yet. Hold off on your assessment until after that.”

“I think you just proved my point,” Harry says, smiling back at him. “My best mate and I, that’s us as well. We’ll have it all out now and again, really go at it. But we always buy each other drinks afterwards.”

“Well, that’s the mark of true friendship. And that reminds me, I need to buy Niall a drink,” Louis says, then raises his eyebrows playfully. “You as well, I guess. I think we’ve had at least one row that warrants it.”

Harry looks at him, startled. “Glad you think it counts,” he says eventually, smiling. 

Their tour continues, and on one of the larger islands that they visit to restock the pantry, Niall brings Harry to see a great-uncle who builds miniature ships in bottles. It’s one of the more obvious tourist tricks of their journey, and when the two of them return, Louis takes Niall aside. 

“I know you want to spread Harry’s wealth over as much of your extended family as possible,” he says drily, “but could you maybe hold off on the obvious con artists?”

Niall grins good-naturedly. “Come on, Uncle Lee is a District Four treasure.”

“Yes, that was kind of exactly my point.”

“OK, yes, but listen. I promise I really did just want to introduce him to Harry,” Niall says, surprisingly earnestly. “He’s a great storyteller. And yeah, sure, a salesman, too. But I like Harry, you know that. I would never bring him to someone just to fleece him.” And then, because this is Niall, he grins. “I just want to maybe shear him a little.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But never stop trying.”

* * *

They’re about a day out from home port when they spot another vessel on an intersecting path. 

“Touring yacht,” Niall says, looking through his spyglass. “Think it’s the _Augusta_. Good crew. Don’t know who the captain is now, but odds are, it’s chartered by Capitol tourists, so we should try to present ourselves from our best side, all right?”

He looks around at them. “OK, lads, time to dress _Ainsley_ up all pretty. I don’t want you to embarrass me before another ship, especially not one all fancy like that one.”

Louis grins. “Right. What are your orders, then, captain?”

“Louis, you give the deck a quick scrub. Colin, remove your swimmers from the shrouds. No one wants to see that. Bradley, once Louis has scrubbed the deck, you start in on coiling the lines in that fancy way you’re so good at. Figures of eight for the sheets and circles for the mooring lines. Apart from that, everyone, just stow away anything that’s not supposed to be on deck—clothes, dishes, the lot. And there’s a set of signal flags hidden somewhere in the prow. Dig those out, and we’ll run them up across the masts.”

“I can do that,” Colin offers. 

“I’m quicker, though,” Harry says, grinning. “I believe we’ve established this already.”

“I knew you would hold that over me,” Colin says, sighing good-naturedly. “I was drunk, remember.”

“And I wasn’t?”

Niall clears his throat. “When you’re done with this little spat, would you please be so kind as to _follow my orders_?”

“Yes, captain, sir,” Louis says cheerfully, making the others laugh, and they all head off to their respective tasks. The signal flags are eventually found after some confused searching, and Harry clambers quickly into the main mast to get them placed.

Harry’s just secured the line in the top mast when they come within hailing distance of the _Augusta_ , and Louis sees him pause to look over at the other ship before starting his descent. There’s a sudden shriek from the other ship, and someone starts waving. 

“Harry! Harry Styles!”

Louis frowns up at Harry, who leans dangerously far out from the mast to look over and then draws in breath quickly. 

“That’s—those are my friends!” 

Niall looks up, then over at the other ship, taking up his spyglass again. 

“Lively bunch,” he says drily. The _Augusta_ now has five people hanging over the railing, all of them waving wildly. “Well then, shall we swing over and say hi? I can see the captain now; I know her from before. Great girl.”

“If it isn’t any trouble,” Harry calls, halfway down the shrouds. Niall shrugs. 

“Our schedule is open. I’ll signal her that we’ll be broadsiding them. Bradley, Colin, can you join me here? I need to go over how we’ll organise this.”

As Bradley and Colin make their way to the helm, Harry arrives back down on deck and comes over to stand next to Louis, looking over towards the _Augusta_ and occasionally waving happily. 

“Friends from back home?” Louis asks, just to fill the silence. Harry smiles. 

“My best friend. And the rest of the gang. Kind of weird to see them all here.”

Within a few minutes, with the sails taken down one by one, they’re gliding quietly up to the _Augusta_ , who’s already at anchor and prepped with fenders. While the _Augusta’s_ crew rushes around, throwing mooring lines over to Bradley and Colin and shouting instructions, the group of five Capitolites stands blissfully ignorant of the chaos around them, leaning out over the railing and shouting questions. 

“When on earth did you decide to go on a holiday, Harry?” 

“I thought you were with the mater in District Eight again this summer!”

 

“How long have you been here?”

“Where have you gone?”

“Have you been to Port Isabel yet? It’s absolutely darling!”

Harry’s laughing, and Louis can almost see him trying to decide between answering one of the questions and helping out with the mooring work. 

“Anyone not working, _away_ from the railing!” someone shouts on the other ship, and Harry’s friends all laugh. 

“She’s very forceful, our captain,” one of the boys says, winking, and the five of them step back as a crew member rushes past with a fender. 

It doesn’t take long after that until the ships are moored side by side, and Harry clambers over the railing to throw himself into a regular old hug cavalcade. Niall follows more sedately after, and Louis, after some hesitation, joins them. Bradley and Colin seem occupied with furling every sail with painstaking effort, and Louis wonders if they maybe took Niall’s admonishments to make the _Ainsley_ look pretty a little too seriously. 

“Guys,” Harry’s saying as Louis jumps down onto the deck of the _Augusta_ , “these are my friends from home. This is Nick, Cara and Kendall, and Jeff and Glenne. And this is Niall, my captain for this trip, and my—my guide, Louis.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” one of the girls says, smiling at Louis. “Wonderful to meet you in person.”

“You too, Cara,” Louis says automatically. She’s ridiculously beautiful. Louis vaguely remembers seeing her at some of the fashion shows he got dragged to last year.

One of the other girls—Glenne, Louis thinks—grabs hold of Harry’s hand, gasping. 

“Oh, Harry. What happened to your _hands_?” 

Harry grins sheepishly. “Sailing. It’s harder than it looks.”

Glenne gapes at him.

“How very active of you, Styles,” Jeff says, putting a hand on Glenne’s waist and grinning at her shocked expression. “Have you been lending a hand?”

“Rather too much of his hand, it seems,” Nick says, and all five of them laugh. 

Louis suppresses a smile. The group is very classical Capitolite, all quips and glamour and façade. He doesn’t recognise them from the private parties he’s usually forced to attend, however, which is a relief. 

“So, Harry,” Cara says. “How very nice to meet you here. And how very unexpected.”

Jeff laughs. “Oh, you’re in big trouble.”

“Why?” Louis asks.

“I’ve been asking Harry for ages to go on a trip with the rest of us. We all have. Some even begged. But no, no, he was _too busy_ and couldn’t _possibly_ take any time out of his busy schedule. And here he is, vacationing without us!”

“Sorry, Jeff,” Harry replies, looking sheepish. “It was very last minute. I won the trip playing cards, and figured, you know, why not?”

“You know, I actually believe that,” Jeff says. “Probably cleaned out the house while you were at it too, didn’t you?” He throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders and turns to the rest of them. “Harry here is a bit of a card shark.”

Niall bursts out laughing, then does a double take of Jeff’s nonplussed face and Harry’s suddenly very guilty-looking one. “Oh. _Seriously_? This lad right here?”

“The one and only,” Jeff says proudly. “He doesn’t look it, I know. Always so good at presenting an innocent face, our dear Harold. Makes you think he’s not a threat and then swoops in and steals the pot. If he weren’t so generous with his winnings, he’d be an absolutely _awful_ friend.”

“Well, anyway, at least we got to run into you here,” Glenne says, sneaking her arm in under Harry’s. The gesture is familiar and casual, and Louis wonders why that suddenly bothers him. Maybe it’s just the fact that these people are all annoyingly gorgeous that’s throwing him off—whatever the reason, Louis can’t help but feel… smaller in front of them, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Kendall claps her hands together. “Hey, you know what? You should come over and eat with us tonight! Mairin, tell the cook we’ll have extra people for dinner.”

Louis sees the _Augusta’s_ captain exchange a glance with Niall, and then she nods. “I’ll see to it.”

“You simply have to come,” Kendall says, turning to Louis and then glancing over at Niall. “Well, all three of you, of course.”

“We would love to,” Niall says cheerfully, and Louis privately thinks that with a ship of this caliber, the liquor on board must be fantastic. No wonder Niall is suddenly enthusiastic.

Glenne cranes her neck, looking curiously over towards Bradley and Colin, who are still spending an inordinate amount of time refurling the mizzen. “How about those two? Are they part of the crew, or—?”

Niall makes a dismissive noise. “Yeah, they’re deckhands,” he says. “They’ll be keeping anchor guard on ship tonight.”

Harry opens his mouth, looks at Niall, and then firmly closes it again, before turning to his friends with another wide smile. For some reason, this one looks a bit strained at the corners.

“Don’t worry,” Mairin says. “Our crew will be probably be joining them, so they’ll have company of their own. Because our ship actually has an automated anchor guard system, like every modern ship.”

“Every modern, soulless ship,” Niall shoots back quickly. 

“That _if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it_ attitude of yours can only hold so long, Niall.”

“You’re just jealous of my pretty boat.”

“Green-eyed monster, that’s me,” Mairin says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll go prepare the cook. You’re welcome at seven.”

“Harry, come join us for drinks,” Nick says, inclining his head towards the full bar placed in the middle of the deck. “You need to update us on all your adventures. Let’s open a bottle of bubbly and you can tell us all about your new sailor lifestyle.”

Harry laughs and allows himself to be led away. Louis watches him go, and does his best to smile.

* * *

The dinner is a surprisingly pleasant affair. Louis was half expecting a repeat of the embarrassing and painful experience with Ms Vargas, but Harry’s friends are nice and polite—if still loud and extravagant in that very Capitol way. 

After dessert, Niall and Mairin excuse themselves and retire to her cabin to compare navigation charts and plot routes, something that makes everyone grin meaningly as soon as the two of them have left the room. 

“So, is that what it’s called in District Four?” Cara says, smiling mischievously. 

“No, it’s called dropping anchor together,” Louis says, made comfortable by the (indeed very good) wine and Harry’s warm body beside him, and the entire group laughs loudly. 

“You really do put the naughty in nautical, don’t you?” Nick says, grinning at Louis. 

“Don’t blame Niall,” Harry says, smiling. “He’s been stuck with a boat full of boys for almost three weeks. I understand if he’s been craving some nice female company.”

“I agree, that sounds much more like your thing,” Nick laughs. 

Cara smiles, raising her glass to Harry. “So, how about it? Has this trip been all you ever wanted?” She looks between Harry and Louis as she says it, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow meaningfully.

Harry steals a glance at Louis, and there’s something soft in his gaze that makes Louis’ heart beat a little faster. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “A lot more than that, to be honest.”

Next to them, Cara and Nick make matching retching sounds.

“Why thank you ever so much, Styles. The sickening sweetness of that statement alone will keep every dentist firmly in business for the next year,” Nick says.

“Oh, you’ll be fine, you have your new veneers,” Harry replies. “Louis, do you want another drink?”

“I’m fine,” Louis says, making sure that whatever discomfort he’s feeling does not show in his face. “I’ll be happy to fetch you another, though, if you want?”

“Good man!” Nick exclaims, reaching over to clap Louis on the shoulder. “One for me as well, please. Go on then, Harry, give him a kiss so we don’t have to keep watching you pine all evening when there are far more fun things to do.”

Louis steels himself. Getting kissed—and likely being expected to put on a bit of a show—in front of all of Harry’s Capitol friends is not exactly what he’d describe as having a good time. On the other hand, he’s had to endure way worse—a single kiss is nothing.

He starts leaning in. Harry stops him with a gentle hand on his chest, but then quickly turns back to his friends with a wide grin.

“Sorry, Grimmy, you know I don’t like putting on a show.”

Nick sighs theatrically and makes a show out of rolling his eyes. “Oh, very _well_ , then. If you’re going to be coy, I’ll tell you about my romantic adventures instead.”

Jeff and Glenne both clap their hands over their ears demonstratively, and Kendall groans, tossing her napkin towards Nick. 

“Now look what you’ve done, Harry!”

“Shut up, all of you. So, Harry, it all started when we stopped by this place called Cape Hamilton. There was this bartender—” 

Louis grins and stands to make his way over to the bar, looking back over his shoulder as he starts to mix their drinks. Harry’s smiling softly at him, and despite Cara’s knowing grin next to him, Louis finds himself smiling back.

* * *

Some time later in the evening, when the dinner has devolved into some absolutely filthy storytelling and the laughter is getting louder and louder, Louis notices Harry increasingly melting into the background. He still smiles and nods, but contributes no stories of his own and hardly speaks, and when Louis returns from a bathroom break, he finds Harry gone. 

Since Nick is at that very moment busy telling a story that involves some frankly worrying hand gestures, Louis feels unattended enough to slip away up onto deck. 

Harry’s standing in the prow of the _Augusta_ , leaning his arms on the railing and staring out over the ocean. On the other side of the ship, there’s music and laughter coming from the aft deck of the _Ainsley_ , so it seems Bradley and Colin may have made some new friends as well. 

“Your friends are nice,” Louis says, coming up next to Harry. 

Harry stiffens and keeps looking out over the ocean. “Are they really, though?”

“For Capitolites? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“See, that’s messed up,” Harry says. “There shouldn’t be a scale on how we judge people. We should all be held to the same standards.”

Louis stifles a smile. In a way, that’s rather sweetly naive. 

“I don’t know how to talk to them any more,” Harry says quietly, and Louis’ amusement melts away at the expression on his face. 

“What do you mean?”

Harry makes an annoyed noise. “Everything’s changed. I know things now that I didn’t before. There’s so much I can’t even speak to them about. I mean,” he adds hastily, “things they wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure? They seem like a pretty good bunch of people.”

“For Capitolites.” Harry says pointedly, then sighs noisily, his shoulders hunching further. “I guess I’m just worried. I feel lonely already. Don’t want to know what that’ll feel like when I’m back home.”

“Oh come on,” Louis says. “You’ll have your work, and all that. You’ll be back to those amazing ball gowns you talked about in no time.” That doesn’t seem to help at all, and before Louis really knows what he’s saying, he continues, “And I’ll be back in the Capitol in no time too.”

Harry looks up at him. “Yeah? So you—I mean, would you—you’re not just going to be relieved to get rid of me once we’re back on shore?”

Louis frowns at him. “I don’t feel that way,” he says. “I thought I’d made that pretty clear.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Harry says, running his hands over his face. “Like, we’re in two very different places, and I don’t know how to read you sometimes, and I basically _bought_ you for this holiday, which is all kinds of weird, and I just—”

“Hey,” Louis interrupts, taking Harry’s arm. “All of that, it’s—I like you, OK? I do. I like being with you. I don’t want to just be rid of you.”

Harry stares back at him, expression still painfully unhappy, and Louis does the only thing he can think of.

Harry lets out a small gasp of surprise when Louis lips press softly against his, and Louis can’t help but smile. Harry must feel it, because a chuckle breaks from his throat, and his teeth come out to catch Louis’ lower lip teasingly. 

“Stop laughing at me,” Harry murmurs, letting Louis’ lip go and pressing a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth instead.

“I’m not laughing, you are,” Louis replies, and then immediately contradicts himself. “Sorry, can’t help it.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Harry says, and Louis is more than happy to oblige.

* * *

When Louis wakes the next morning, the other side of the bed is empty. 

The feeling of rejection is sudden and overwhelming. Last night felt so easy, so _right_ , and he fell asleep with Harry’s comforting weight on his chest, imagining waking up to run a hand through that curly hair and see Harry smile back at him.

He tells himself not to be ridiculous; there are a million reasons why Harry could have left—a few on the very top of the list being that they’re on a fucking ship, which needs people sailing it.

Or he could have gone to breakfast. Louis leans over the edge of the bunk to grab his watch, his eyes widening a bit when he realises that it’s barely even morning anymore.

Breakfast is looking increasingly likely. Louis gets out of bed and starts pulling on his clothes. 

There’s only blue water around them, no other ship in sight, so the _Augusta_ must have pushed off already with Harry’s colourful friends. Louis isn’t surprised. Chartered ships usually have a strict schedule to adhere to. Nick and all the rest of them will most likely be oohing over pearls this afternoon. 

He finds Harry sitting with Bradley, Colin and Niall in the prow of the ship, indeed breakfasting. Harry looks up as Louis approaches, and the smile on his face is—although somewhat tense—enough to relax the knot in Louis’ stomach a bit.

The way Harry gestures for Louis to sit down next to him and takes his hand when he does is a further calming gesture. 

“I have a condition,” Harry says to no one in particular. “Louis gets told.”

Louis stiffens. “What—” he begins, but Niall interrupts. 

“No. We talked about this.”

“It’s more dangerous to run blind,” Harry insists. 

“ _Fine,_ but Louis gets to choose,” Niall says, and then turns to look straight at Louis with a serious look on his face. 

“Have you seen the unedited footage from Haymitch Abernathy’s Games?”

Louis stares at him, his head spinning. “Yes,” he says eventually, narrowing his eyes. “But how the fuck have _you_? How do you even know about that?”

Niall just waves that away. “That’s a little what this is about. That final moment. That idea.”

 _When Haymitch used the Arena to kill his final opponent,_ Louis’ brain supplies. He still has no idea where Niall is going with this, and says as much.

“Remember how I told you this thing I’m involved with goes far beyond Colin and Bradley?” Niall asks. “I’ll give you some of the names of other people involved, and you choose from there whether you want to know all of it or if you’d prefer not to. I really will not blame you if you choose the second option.”

“All right,” Louis says. “Hit me.”

“Haymitch is probably the most notable,” Niall says. “Then there’s Alida, Chaff, Angus, Mags...”

Louis nods and ducks his head, fixing his gaze firmly at the deck. He got the picture at Haymitch—these are all people who are very firmly on Snow’s shitlist. The ones Snow uses as examples of things that can happen to a victor, to keep the rest of them in line.

“Thanks,” he says. “Lovely. I think I get the picture well enough.”

“Well?” Harry says, looking at Louis with that impossible smile of his still present at the corner of his mouth, in his eyes.

“I need to think about it,” Louis replies. “My family’s already—I just… I’ll go have my breakfast down in the cabin. I’ll—see you guys later, OK?” 

“Take all the time you need,” Niall says. “You know where to find us.”

Louis gives him a nod in thanks and turns to walk away.

* * *

Louis lies stretched out in his and Harry’s bunk, staring up into the cabin’s ceiling. There’s no doubt about it—Niall’s up to his neck in something huge and dangerous and frightening. And somehow, Harry seems to be caught up in the same thing.

On the one hand, it makes Louis feel alive in ways he hasn’t since he went into the games. It makes him hope that there’s something out there—some kind of plan to make things better, instead of people just doing what little damage control they can, where they can. 

He thinks of his mum, and his sisters, and feels absolutely sick to his stomach at the thought of putting them in any more danger than the shitload they’re already in, simply for being related to Louis. The twins are still _so young_ , too, and if there’s any risk at all that this will put them in danger, it’s a risk he can’t take.

On the other hand, Lottie’s so brave, and his mum is stronger than anyone has the right to be. And Louis’ whole life is full of secrets, none of which have arguably been of any help to either him or his family.

In the end, there’s only one choice he can make.

“I hope you don’t think I’m pushing you into something,” Harry says, sprinting down to meet him and pulling Louis aside for a word in private once he rejoins the rest of them on deck. “I’m just worried. If you and I—if we ever—I’m caught up in something now, and I wanted you to be able to opt in or out. I’ll get it, whatever you choose.” 

“Well.” Louis sighs, but then smiles back at Harry. “I have chosen.”

He hold out his hand, and is stupidly relieved when Harry takes it. They walk up to the others and take a seat opposite Colin and Bradley.

“I’m in,” Louis tells them. “Start talking.”

“OK, so.” Colin shifts in his seat, awkward, and Bradley moves closer, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “Well, for starters, you know that Bradley is from District One. That part’s true. But we didn’t meet in District Four. We met in last year’s Arena.”

It’s like being slapped. For a moment, Louis can’t breathe. “But you’re—” he begins stupidly. “You weren’t our tribute.”

“I’m also not actually from District Four,” Colin says, and at that, Louis has to fight down a hysterical laugh. That part, at last, is easy to swallow. 

“I’m from District Twelve,” Colin continues. “Guinevere Smith was our second tribute. She was probably a lot more memorable than me.”

Guinevere, yes, her Louis remembers clearly. Good with a mace and absolutely fierce. For some reason, though, he still can’t place Colin.

Then an idea hits him, and as soon as it does, Louis mentally slaps himself for not having put the pieces together sooner. “You’re doing magic on me, right now, aren’t you? To change the way you look or something? Because I’m really good with names and faces and, for some reason, I can’t remember Haymitch’s boy from last year at all. _Or_ Gloss’ boy, now that I think about it. Like, I remember they—you, I guess—both made it far into the competition, but everything else is blank.”

Colin grins at him. “Guilty as charged. It’s actually not so much me doing magic _on_ you as me having put a simple glamour on myself and Bradley.” 

His eyes flash gold, suddenly, and Louis feels like everything around him… _shifts_ a little, for lack of a better word. 

Louis blinks, looking back at Colin, and it’s like something in his head suddenly _clicks_.

“You fell down one of the gaps in the volcanic part of the arena,” he says. “You and the Threes. But you died. Everyone heard the cannon and saw your face in the sky! And _you_ ,” he turns to Bradley, his mind working too fast for him to keep up with it. “You were in the final three! You battled your district partner and got eaten by a fucking dragon!”

“Yeah. If you haven’t already guessed it, magic played a big part in both of those,” Bradley says. “We both got out, along with a few of the other tributes. And we made our way to other people who have managed to escape the Capitol. They gave us new identities—and a mission.” 

Colin grins nervously. “Hello, my name is Merlin,” he says brightly. “And I’m part of the revolution.”

“District Thirteen is still alive and active,” Niall adds, more cheerfully than Louis feels is appropriate. “And they’re planning to unite the districts and take the Capitol down.”

Louis just stares. Barely none of those words made any sense at all. 

He turns to Harry. “So how exactly do _you_ fit into all of this?”

Harry shrugs, smiling slightly. “Every revolution needs an inside man,” he says. “I’m not the only one, either. There are plenty of people in the Capitol who want to see a change.”

“It’s still OK if you don’t want any part of this,” Niall says. “We have plenty of victors with us already. You can get out any time you like.”

Louis looks around the group, feeling a reckless surge of hope in his chest.

“Fuck that,” he says, raising his hand towards the centre of their circle. “Let’s do this.” 

“Hear hear!” Niall says, raising his own hand and meeting Louis’.

The others follow their lead. Louis feels Harry's hand on his and smiles back at him. 

His part in the revolution has officially started.


End file.
